


Silver Thaw

by ealamusings



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Capitol!Peeta, Dark Days Rebellion, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, POV Peeta Mellark, Sexual Content, rebel!Katniss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ealamusings/pseuds/ealamusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Dark Days rebellion. A Capitol hunting guide and Panem Games Biathlon champion is enlisted to hunt down and capture a mysterious rebel troublemaker in the snowy mountains of District 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn't be half as good without the help of my wonderful betas (on tumblr) papofglencoe, finduilasnumenesse and titaniasfics. Thank you for your advice, encouragement and your friendship! ILY! 
> 
> And Thank You to everyone who reads my story. It is complete except for final beta-review. I will post one chapter per week, on Fridays. I hope you enjoy 'Silver Thaw.' :-)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or the characters depicted in the series. I am indebted and grateful to Suzanne Collins for the inspiration they have provided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only is papofglencoe a phenomenal author and dedicated beta, but she is also a talented banner-maker, too! She made this lovely one for me. <3!
> 
> (image source: https://www.instagram.com/p/BHjDTyGh3Kq/)

 

_**Sometimes a hunter can become the prey.** _

 

**Chapter 1 - The Mission**

Some part of his brain knew this was only a nightmare, that the huge beast’s stinking, hot breath on the back of his neck wasn’t real. Neither was the searing pain as claws and fangs ravaged his back. He wasn’t thirteen anymore, when the nightmares had first started. And yet it didn’t stop him from curling up into a protective ball. Or erase how his lungs burned from the suffocating stench and weight of the enraged creature as it pressed him into the decaying leaves littering the ground.

_I am going to die._

The nightmare world was reduced to shades of black and white - the hulking shadow cast by the grizzly and the blinding glare of agony flashing behind his eyes. Only one color was permitted in this realm, vivid and cruel in contrast. Red. The blood flowing from his wounds. Dripping from claws, staining the ground. All he could do was ride it out. Exactly like he’d been doing every time the nightmare hit for the past seven years.

If only the worst of it was the grizzly bear.

Why wasn’t Father coming to his aid? Somewhere in the fog he was aware of shouts, distorted and muffled. But out of the din, Father’s controlled voice was instructing the _Very Important Man_ to take the shot. The man was inexperienced though, and Father had to help him when he forgot to release the safety on his rifle. The first shot barely grazed the grizzly’s flank, only serving to enrage it further. Confusion seeped into his terror. Father knew how to kill with one well-placed bullet, yet he did nothing to interrupt the attack.

Instead, Father was surreally calm as he directed the man to try again. Blood from lacerations in his scalp blinded him as he looked with a child’s innocence on the man who was supposed to protect him, who seemed indifferent to his suffering.

_My father is going to let me die_.

Just as he was losing hope, he heard the rifle fire and a crushing weight descend on his shredded back, and then everything faded to black. But he had endured this nightmare enough times to know it wasn’t over, that what lay ahead would inflict a different pain. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited.

In the hazy, gray zone between sleep and wakefulness, he saw his father sitting at the table with his head in his hands. And like she did every time, his mother sat across from her husband and reassured him with bitter pragmatism, _‘You did what you had to do.’_

Then she turned to him, where he lay on the bed, bandaged and foggy from the morphling. Even the drugs and sickly scent of antiseptic couldn’t disguise the harshness as she hurled the accusation.

_‘Careless, stupid creature! If it hadn’t been for your father’s quick thinking, you could have cost us everything!’_

His parents stared at him from across the room, in the moment that always brought greatest terror. Their eyes were no longer blue like his. Their eyes glowed red, like the blood staining his bandages. One-by-one they were joined by multiple sets of eyes. Though their faces became obscured, he knew in his gut to whom they belonged. One set he recognized as his brother’s, which hurt even more than his parents. The rest became increasingly removed from his acquaintance. But they all shared the same quality - always watching, menacing, glowing from around the room.

And he finally understood that no one would save him. Then darkness returned and the eyes grew hidden, but their presence lingered, as stifling as the bear’s stench. All the more terrifying because he could no longer tell from where they would attack.

With a gasp, Peeta woke from the nightmare, struggling for breath, reaching for his rifle.

It took a moment for him to make sense of where he was. The steady hum of the hovercraft engines, the movement of men in military uniforms passing his narrow bunk, the tinny, cold air that permeated the plane. He was no longer in the Rocky Mountains near his family’s home on the outskirts of the Capitol. He was on his way to District 13. To the middle of the war zone.

But the nightmare had a way of clinging to him. Maybe because it wasn’t so removed from reality. From the beginning it had seized Peeta, stripping him of any sense of security, teaching him a harsh truth about the world. Not the kind that drew blood or left visible scars, but was every bit as cruel. It was the element of his nightmare from which he could find no relief, even when awake. It was the insidious fear that encompassed everyone living in Panem.

“We’ll be arriving in a few minutes,” a voice shouted at him over the rumble.

Peeta rubbed his eyes, tossed back the heavy blanket, and swung his feet over the edge of the bunk. He shivered because the hovercraft was chilly, or so he told himself.

The soldier spoke again. “The commander wants to meet with you as soon as we touch ground.”

Peeta nodded, reached for his parka, and quickly put it on over his sweater. It was winter camouflage white, matching his snow pants. He’d been instructed to come fully equipped for the conditions, but the truth was he appreciated how the high tech hunting garments helped him disappear into obscurity. He slipped his feet into his boots and laced them up as the vessel descended to the ground and the rear hatch opened.

The soldier was about to move on when he stopped, turned back, and said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Peeta’s gut twisted. But he quickly regained his composure, remembering his agent Effie Trinket’s coaching on how to present himself in public. He pasted the gracious, but sad, smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he answered, and the soldier made his way aft.

Peeta grabbed the backpack that held all of his gear - his rifle and hunting knife, snow shoes, first aid kit, sleeping bag, extra clothing. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he joined the queue of departing soldiers.

Once outside the hovercraft, he took a brief look around the Capitol’s military outpost. They were in an expansive, treeless valley adjacent to a river bordered in ice. The mountains in the background were less rugged than the ones he’d grown up in, but there was a familiar quality to them, covered in a mix of spruce, fir, and pine along with bare, deciduous trees. And snow.

Everything had a washed out quality, even the evergreens. All shades of gray from inky black to stark white. And there was a dampness in the icy breeze that sapped whatever warmth it could steal from his exposed skin. The cloud-shrouded sun was just above the peaks, though morning was well advanced. Days were short this time of year— slightly less than back home— this far north.

Soon they would reach the solstice, the darkest day of the year. _Appropriate,_ he thought. They were calling this the Dark Days Rebellion, and here he was, completely in the dark about what the hell he was even doing here. But he knew that when the Capitol gave a directive, you did what you were told.

The soldier nudged his shoulder and pointed to the portable building in the center of the camp marked with a sign that read, _Headquarters,_ where he would hopefully find some answers. He sucked in a frosty breath that stung his lungs, and crossed the clearing to where he was expected.

Peeta climbed the metal steps and tested the door knob. Finding it open he stomped his feet to dislodge the excess snow and quickly entered. He closed it behind him to keep out the cold draft and dropped his heavy gear to the floor. His nose was accosted with the scent of pine. Not like a forest, but the artificial variety.

He directed his trained, winning smile at the uniformed man behind a desk and said, “I’m Peeta Mellark.”

He was met with a stoney stare. “Yeah, everyone in Panem knows who you are.” He tipped his head toward the door behind him. “Go right in. The old man isn’t one for formalities.”

_Okay,_ Peeta thought as the smile left his face. _So much for Effie’s charm offensive._ He gave the door two quick taps and pushed it open.

Commander Abernathy was standing with his back to him, gazing out the small window, but he turned at the sound of his footsteps. He was a lean, hardscrabble-type under the heavy winter uniform. His dark hair was liberally salted with gray and in a mild state of disarray. Even his skin seemed similarly washed out and gray, giving his natural olive complexion a slightly jaundiced pallor. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and had the rumpled look of a man who’d slept in his clothes. His face bore the lines, dark circles under the eyes, and scowl of a man grown weary with his responsibilities.

He took a long sip from the mug he gripped in his hand before placing it down on the desk in front of him, and, gesturing to a chair opposite him, he sat down behind his desk. Once Peeta was seated, the commander leaned forward. He didn’t bother with introductions. Apparently a man who didn’t have time for unnecessary words, since, after all, they both knew who the other was.

“Panem has a problem, Mr. Mellark. And it’s been decided that you are uniquely qualified to solve it.”

Peeta furrowed his brow. “I’m a civilian, not a soldier.”

He was cut off by an impatient hand gesture. “Yes, I’m fully aware of your credentials.” The commander placed a hand on a file folder, not bothering to open it. “Professional guide at your family’s hunting lodge. Gold medal recipient and record holder at the Panem Winter Games two years ago in the Venator Biathlon. Capitol superstar.” With a withering expression he added, “Media darling.” Peeta cringed. “Very impressive.”

Abernathy sounded anything but impressed. He studied Peeta with narrowed eyes and then heaved a deep sigh. Peeta caught the distinct waft of alcohol. So, not just coffee in that mug.

“Even though you’ve managed to avoid the conscription, I’m sure you’re aware of the latest developments in the districts… even from your safe place within the Capitol.” Abernathy’s cloudy, gray eyes grew hard.

Peeta bristled at the accusation. His older brother Rye had been called up in the second round of the draft, but so far his name had been passed over. Peeta suspected that it wasn’t a coincidence. The Capitol favored its popular celebrities.

Despite how the guilt of his brother’s recent death weighed on him, Peeta met the commander’s glare with an indignant one of his own. “My brother was killed when a suicide bomber attacked the field hospital he was serving in as a medic.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all suffered loss, Mr. Mellark,” Abernathy retorted. “Those of us who signed up long before the war know all about it. Something you Capitol citizens wouldn’t fully understand.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the commander dropped his surly attitude and muttered, “But war has a way of… reordering things. For everyone.” He sounded almost conciliatory.

Peeta prided himself with being good at reading people. Abernathy wasn’t attempting to be empathetic, he was backtracking from a slip. Criticizing the leadership of Panem was foolhardy. Especially in the presence of a citizen of the Capitol. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or lack of sleep. Or maybe it was because Abernathy was from District 12. Peeta could detect the distinctive accent.

He’d traveled to D12 after the Winter Games as part of his sponsor-related duties, using his post-Games notoriety to promote their latest products. He’d seen the abysmal state of the place. It wasn’t a surprise that Abernathy had signed up with the military to escape the poverty and the mines.

There’d been a lot of growing dissension in the months leading up to the war throughout the districts. But getting that vibe from someone in military leadership was surprising. The man’s careless comment was likely due to finding himself fighting on the Capitol side against the people in his own district.

“But now we have the ‘Mockingjay’ problem, which is why you are here,” Abernathy said with a sardonic smile.

“What’s a _‘mockingjay’_ ?” Peeta asked.

“The unintended consequences of Capitol arrogance,” the commander answered cryptically.

Abernathy opened another file folder, selected a photo from the pile, and pushed it across the desk for him to see. It was an image of a woman, a girl really, a teenager a bit younger than himself, Peeta guessed. She held a bow of primitive design in her hand, drawn, with an arrow pointed directly at the camera above her.

She was striking. Not because of outstanding beauty, at least by the standards of the Capitol. Her long, dark hair hung in a simple, thick braid, her face free of any cosmetics or adornments. The clothing she wore— a pale leather parka with simple wood, or possibly bone, toggle closures and white fur trim— was rustic in construction. Her expression was determined and gave off an effect he searched to define. It radiated off her in a way that unnerved him. Like the red eyes from his nightmares. No, that wasn’t it either. It was something _else._

Peeta was certain that she was an Outlier.

Abernathy confirmed this suspicion. “You’ve heard about the Outliers, I’m sure. Elusive. Don’t recognize any affiliation with the districts or the government, living off-the-grid outside the populated areas.”

He pointed at the photo. “That image was taken this morning, seconds before she shot down our surveillance drone. It’s the sixth one she’s destroyed in less than two weeks. And not just drones. Communication towers as soon as we erect them, burning up food and ammunition resupply drops for our troops in the field.” He spread several photos out in a fan, all featuring the girl.

Abernathy selected an image from the collection and looked at Peeta with sharp eyes, gauging his reaction. It showed several Capitol soldiers laying on the ground in front of a shack with arrows sticking out of their bodies. “She’s a killer, too.”

Peeta frowned. “I thought Outliers were mainly thieves or opportunists, wanting to keep a low profile,” he said. He was confused about all the destruction, which seemed so out of character, though tales from his childhood flashed into his mind. Yes, he’d heard the stories. Who hadn’t?

_‘You leave that window open and the Outliers will sneak in and steal you away!’_ his mother had warned him when he was small. Later he figured out that it was because she had an issue with wasting heat during the winter nights.

Rye hadn’t helped though. _‘Yeah, they’ll take you and cook you on a spit for dinner,’_ he’d teased from the bed across the room. Some of his earliest nightmares had been populated by Outliers. Before the grizzly bear became the starring attraction.

Peeta reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I thought the rumors of their brutal ways were just… rumors.”

Abernathy nodded. “Up until now I’d have believed it, too. The Outliers in District 12 never caused any trouble. Stuck to themselves.” He gave a sigh and mumbled, “But this war has brought out the worst in all of us.”

_There it is again_ , Peeta thought. Another tiny crack in Abernathy’s loyalty.

Peeta let out a perplexed huff. “You’re telling me this girl, an Outlier armed with primitive weapons, is a threat to the Capitol?”

Abernathy leaned back in his chair. “Here in D13? She’s a frustrating nuisance, along with others of her kind who’ve allied with the rebels to make our lives difficult. D13 is mostly graphite miners and nuclear scientists and technicians with very little know-how about fighting in these conditions,” he said as he waved a hand out the window. “Their military strength is limited to a handful of hovercrafts they commandeered and, more worrisome, the nuclear weapons in their possession. Our goal has been containment without risking escalation. Cut them off from needed supplies. Keep the leadership in D13 from directing rebels elsewhere. However, they are utilizing the Outliers’ backcountry skills to hamper our efforts.”

Peeta puzzled over what would cause Outliers to ally with the rebels in a war between two factions they keenly avoided, when Abernathy ran a hand over his unshaven jaw. “But none of that is your concern. You’ve been brought here to contain the Mockingjay threat.”

That word again. Peeta gave him a frustrated shrug. “I still don’t know what this has to do with me.”

Abernathy’s lips grew thin. “The government is finding it necessary to fight this war on multiple fronts, Mellark.”

He took another sip from his mug. “The rebels are projecting images of this girl all over the country. Videos, graffiti.” He pulled another photo from the pile, this one of a factory building wall with a hastily painted bird clutching an arrow. “Sending a message that if one girl armed with only a bow can take on the Capitol’s military and win, then anyone can fight back. She’s serving as a model to fire up waning support in districts the Capitol had nearly regained control of. Inciting regular folks, not just rebel militia, but farmers and factory workers, to use guerrilla tactics against Capitol troops and essential infrastructure. It’s a war much tougher for us to fight.”

“I haven’t heard anything about a _Face of the Rebellion_ or a _Mockingjay_ ,” Peeta replied.

“Of course you haven’t!” Abernathy snorted. “The Capitol is not the target of this campaign. It’s directed at the districts. As soon as the video messages appear, the Capitol scrambles to block them, paint over all the symbols as soon as they pop up. But the wizards in District 3, who fed the technological means to D13 for them to disseminate the propaganda, have made it impossible for the Capitol to shut it down, cover it up. It’s still getting out. So they’ve decided another approach is necessary.”

Peeta could feel the dread creeping up his spine.

“Time’s critical, Mellark.” He unfolded a plasticized map of the region and stabbed his finger at a specific location. “We’ll drop you here where that latest photo was taken. It’s only been a couple of hours. You should be able to pick up her trail.”

Peeta didn’t like the direction this was going. “You expect me to hunt down this girl? A human being? Don’t you have soldiers for that?”

Abernathy quirked an eyebrow. “You may not think you’re qualified, but your gold medal says that you are exactly the best choice.”

The Venator Biathlon was more than a speed and endurance Nordic ski event with sharp shooting. The VB Arena was a 20-mile course through heavily wooded and mountainous terrain. Each competitor followed their own designated trail that converged repeatedly with those of all the others.

But what made the event especially popular was the competitive angle that pitted each athlete against each other. Points were awarded for scoring a ‘hit’ on another skier. Specialized rifles emitted signals that triggered sensors in the suit of an opponent, sending electrical impulses to their limbs, immobilizing them for a time penalty. Peeta had been the first person in the history of the event to score a hit on every other competitor from the districts of Panem without sustaining a single one on himself.

Commentators had gushed about his accuracy, his decision to play a strategic game by lying in wait instead of rushing for the finish line, how he had an uncanny sense of anticipating his competition, getting the drop on them just a second before they spotted him. He’d won with a record-breaking score. And he had been a celebrity ever since.

_But this isn’t the same,_ Peeta’s mind protested. That was a game. This was real.

“We’re dealing with a propaganda war. That’s what you are here for, Mellark. Panem’s popular Capitol champion, taking on and defeating the rebels’ icon.” The cynicism lacing Abernathy’s words and grim smile were unmistakable.

_Great_ , Peeta thought, his heart rate increasing. He’d been doing his best to fade from the spotlight for months. Had even thought the war might help that goal as people focused on more important concerns. But now this. Another reminder that fame was highly overrated. Even dangerous.

Abernathy paused, his eyes growing unfocused. “The system is rotten, nobody knows that more than me…” his voice trailed off for a moment before he directed his gaze back at Peeta. “But the Mockingjay could destroy what fragile system and population we’ve managed to rebuild since the cataclysm, taking us to a point from which we may not be able to recover. This isn’t about sides in the rebellion. The Capitol believes that our very survival is at stake.”

_But I’m not a killer_ , Peeta insisted in his head. The air in the room seemed devoid of oxygen as he struggled to catch his breath.

As if reading his mind, the commander opened a drawer and took out a small box and placed it on top of the map.

“Your mission isn’t to kill the Mockingjay. The government doesn’t want to risk creating a martyr. Their goal is to humiliate and demoralize the enemy, to showcase the might of the Capitol.”

Peeta took only marginal comfort in this clarification. He opened the box and recognized it as some kind of specialized ammunition.

“These are stun darts, matched to the caliber of your rifle,” Abernathy explained. “Effective within seconds of contact, not unlike in your games, except they knock the target out completely and keep them unconscious for hours. Your job is to capture the girl and bring her in. Alive.”

Peeta nodded and swallowed, his throat tight with anxiety, as he processed the task before him. But then a new, troubling question presented itself. “What will they do to her?”

Abernathy gave him a quizzical look, as if Peeta’s question surprised him. “Not our place to ask,” the commander muttered. Peeta almost detected a flicker of sympathy when Abernathy continued. “If it’s any help, remember it was the terrorist tactics inspired by this Mockingjay that caused your brother’s death.”

Peeta considered his words. He’d learned to detect when people were trying to manipulate his emotions to get what they wanted, but Abernathy didn’t seem the type to waste the energy. Even so, the mention of his brother struck a nerve.

“Gather your gear,” he said. “There are food rations ready for you on the hovercraft, and regular ammo in case you encounter rebel resistance… Or other obstacles.” Abernathy’s last addition sounded ominous. He handed him a folder. “Everything you need to know is in this briefing. You leave immediately.”

The commander stood up to signal the meeting was over. He reached out to offer his hand to shake. Peeta was surprised to find it was warm.

“Good luck, and welcome to the ‘Arena’, Mr. Mellark. That’s what we call it around here.”

“How fitting,” Peeta murmured under his breath as he glanced once more at the photo of the girl.

Why was it that, if he was the hunter, he felt like the world was closing in on him? Just like the grizzly, like the ever-watchful Capitol. And now the Mockingjay. He rubbed his neck to release the tension building there. And remembered that sometimes a hunter can become the prey.


	2. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Capitol hunter and a rebel icon cross paths.

**Chapter 2 - The Hunter**

Peeta crouched in the snow, his gloved hands sheltering his eyes, as the hovercraft lifted from the ground. The departing plane flew away low over the tree tops, leaving him with a disorienting sense of vertigo as he was swallowed up in the whirling whiteout left in its wake. The diminishing roar of the engines was replaced by the rapid pounding inside his chest.

He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths to calm his anxiety. The sensation was reminiscent of the moments leading up to competition. He sucked in another deep breath, clenched his eyes shut, and tried to psych himself up, the way he used to while waiting for the starting pistol.

The air grew still, so Peeta released the breath and opened his eyes, seeking to find an anchor somewhere to restore his equilibrium. A slight breeze high above him made the frozen trees creak, but otherwise everything was silent. Features emerged as the snow crystals drifted back to the ground. He stood and scanned the small clearing in the forest to gain his bearings in this unfamiliar place.

The wreck of the drone lay partially buried in snow, its red Capitol insignia glaring in the otherwise colorless environment. He glanced up at the gray sky. It wasn’t snowing, though that could change, which meant there was no time to waste if he was to track the girl. But his frayed nerves kept him paralyzed. He stared at the twisted metal, Abernathy’s dire warning of destruction for Panem echoing in his head.

 _Focus_ , he reminded himself.

He needed to keep his mind on his objective— be smart, stay alert. If he could pretend this was simply another version of the Games, or even another day acting as a hunting guide, maybe he could get through this.

_‘Stay alive.'_

Abernathy’s parting words had made him flinch. The commander might have been sincere, but it struck Peeta as trite. He wondered if the man believed he could do it. Not only stay alive, but succeed in this mission. Either the Capitol had confidence in his chances, or he was an expendable pawn. It wasn’t like they were sending in a camera crew to document his success, so Peeta figured that both were equally possible.

It was too exposed in the clearing, so he grabbed his gear and dashed into the trees. If, by chance, there were any rebels in the area, the hovercraft would’ve been impossible to miss. He remained motionless, his white snow suit, with its slight mottled pattern, blending seamlessly into the background. Satisfied that he was alone, he glanced up through the trees at the veiled sun and savored the faint, radiant warmth.

 _Just for a minute_ , he told himself, to draw from the peacefulness surrounding him. Because this was the ‘Arena,’ and peace was an illusion.

He’d read the briefing on the hovercraft, but there had been so little time to process it all. For some reason, all he could think about during the short flight was his brother Rye.

 _‘About time you did something actually useful,’_ he’d teased Peeta after he’d won the gold medal.

Despite his brother’s dig, Peeta remembered the genuine affection and pride in his brother’s eyes that day, laughing as Rye caught him in a headlock and ruffled his hair. It was the closest thing to a hug Peeta would get from his big brother.

At first that win had made Peeta proud, too, accomplishing something that brought welcomed prestige to the family’s hunting lodge. Up until then, he’d never felt like he pulled his weight. It was a longstanding insecurity, one that had driven Peeta to succeed in the Games, to prove his worth. And to deal with the nightmares. It became the force behind his relentless drive for perfection. How, for him, after the nightmares came, the idea of _failure_ was synonymous with _death_.

But Peeta’s success in the Games hadn’t helped his brother. On the contrary, it had made things worse. It was Peeta’s attempt at using his influence that had gotten Rye posted to the medical corps instead of the front line. Only for him to be killed anyway. Of all the unintended consequences of his fame, that one haunted Peeta the most.

And now his notoriety had brought him here, hunting a human being. For real.

 _I’m here to capture, not kill,_ he tried to reassure himself.

He would get this thing done, go home, and hopefully not have anything to add to the list of things he regretted about his life.

 _Focus,_ he ordered himself a second time, double-checking his rifle.

It wasn’t loaded with the stun darts, but regular ammunition. The magazine that held the darts was in his breast pocket. His best strategy, when it came to the girl, was ambush. There’d be time, if he spotted his quarry, to make the switch.

Encountering rebels was possible, if improbable. According to Abernathy they had a small number of trained military. They had hovercrafts at their disposal, but few pilots. One attempt they’d made to use them had resulted in the plane being blown out of the sky by Capitol gunners. The rebels weren’t eager to lose what they had.

But they did have the Outliers. Like the Mockingjay, they knew how to survive out here, and they were not on his side. This was a big district, however, and hopefully that would work in his favor. Plus, he had the element of surprise on his side.

_Only because I am out here alone._

He couldn’t count on anyone to protect him. For a fleeting second he caught a whiff of the grizzly’s stinking breath blowing hot on the back of his neck. He tugged the collar of his turtleneck sweater up a little higher.

The hovercraft crew hadn’t wasted any time getting out of the area. One of the soldiers on board said they were taking a risk dropping him in the middle of the Arena, which was technically a ‘no-fly’ zone. The Capitol was adamant about avoiding any action that provoked the nuclear district to do something desperate. This had become a limited ground war, with neither side making any real progress. _‘Containment,’_ Abernathy said. A battle over control of the air waves.

As disturbing as a potential rebel encounter might be, Peeta’s chief concern was another, more sinister threat outlined in the briefing. Capitol made, but rebel controlled—

_‘Muttations.’_

Or so Abernathy called them. The description in the briefing made his skin crawl. Designed in District 3 when the uprisings first began, they were ideal for the conditions here— wolves and bears like nothing found in nature, armed with razor claws and dagger teeth. Their fur could change color like a chameleon with the environment. They were vicious predators invented to prey on the rebels, programmed and released into the Arena. The mutts conjured up images from his nightmare— monsters created with one purpose, to terrorize and kill. Peeta ran a hand over the back of his neck and focused on his breathing.

The Capitol troops had all been given special transmitters that gave off an ultrasonic tone that was supposed to protect them from the beasts as they advanced on D13, but there were scientists in District 3, sympathetic to the rebellion, who had leaked an overriding control signal to the leaders in D13. The mutts had turned on the Capitol soldiers. When the Capitol retook the science and technology labs in D3, the traitors had been found and executed, but the damage was already done. Now their own weapon was being used against them, to protect the D13 stronghold.

These creatures weren’t so different from the mutt-hybrid bird, the mockingjay. He’d learned about that embarrassing failure, too, from the soldiers on the hovercraft. The name made sense now, but the girl remained an anomaly. Unlike other Outliers, she was out here alone for some reason. Just like him. Part of the _‘lone wolf warrior’_ propaganda the rebels were trying to portray, he figured. He wondered how the rebels got the footage of her to use in their propaganda messages. Peeta tried to not think of the Mockingjay as a person, but a goal, another competition to win.

_For the good of Panem._

The words rang hollow when the image of the girl in the photo came to mind. Alluring and fearless like the heroine of some dark tale. He forced himself to remember Rye’s coffin, holding what was left of his brother, and the girl transformed back into the Mockingjay, the enemy with a bow, inciting death. His target.

Peeta ordered himself to start thinking like a hunter, to familiarize himself with the environment. He needed to concentrate on his strategy.

He unfolded the map. Along with the topographical features, the aerial surveillance revealed all locations of human activity over the entire district. The mining settlements had been abandoned when everyone evacuated to the immediate vicinity of the underground fortress. There were Outlier dwellings scattered across the region as well. Many had been destroyed in the fighting, but some of the structures remained intact. All were believed deserted now that they were allied with the rebels and had accepted the protection of D13 along with the rest of the population.

The map also included extraction points, the current Capitol outposts that were laid out, more or less equidistant, in a band circling the western and southern border regions. This was where he could rendezvous when he was successful or if he required updated intel, but Peeta had no intention of being out here long enough to need that. He planned to get this mission completed soon, before the snow returned.

He lifted the pack onto his back and strapped on his snow shoes.

It took no time to locate the Mockingjay’s trail in the snow, heading northeast into what the map claimed was empty wilderness. And though she was clever to stay close to the trees, where there was less snow to leave tracks, Peeta had years of experience at the lodge, a keen eye, and a well-honed knack for anticipating behavior—

_In animals._

No, not just animals. Abernathy’s words echoed in his brain, reminding him about the skill that had served him so well in the Games.

 _What was the Mockingjay doing out here in the middle of nowhere? What strategic game was she playing? What was in it for her?_ It was a mystery he wished he understood. In the Games, understanding his opponents had tilted the odds his way.

He lost and reacquired the girl’s trail several times, which made his progress slow. He noted a lack of tracks any larger than the occasional squirrel or bird in the snow. _Odd._ He should be relieved that there were no signs of muttations, but for such a vast place it seemed strangely devoid of life. The emptiness of the forest not only failed to provide comfort, it left Peeta feeling as if the world of the living had exiled him to this cold, achromatic, and lonely place.

The sun dropped beneath the mountains and twilight was upon him when Peeta began to search out a spot to hole up for the night. He was equipped for the cold, but he needed to do more than stay warm. If he was going to get any sleep, it needed to be hidden to provide a degree of security.

He settled on a massive spruce tree. At its base, under branches heavily laden with snow, there was a hollow pocket, as he expected. It would serve him well. The night would hide his tracks, but he used a pine bough to sweep them away as best he could. He lifted a branch, careful not to dislodge the snow that clung to it, slid his pack down into the makeshift shelter, and crawled in after it. After pushing snow up to make a more substantial wall, he removed from his pack the thin, ultra-insulating sleeping bag and laid it out to sit on. And then he prepared for what was going to be a long, dark night.

Peeta ate a cold meal from the rations they gave him, frowning at how tasteless they were. After winning the gold medal, his family had been more tolerant of him indulging in other interests besides leading guests on hunting trips. Dabbling in cooking and baking had been one of his new hobbies. Fortunately, it had proven to be a useful endeavor, popular with the guests at the lodge, since he was pretty good at it. If he’d concocted anything that tasted like these rations he would have tossed it out in disgust, regardless of how _nutrient dense_ it was.

To alleviate the boredom he replayed his game-winning performance, reliving each step. He needed to keep sharp, not let his mind drift to how the wrong Mellark lay in that coffin or to think about how, if it were Rye here instead, he wouldn’t even flinch at taking on this enemy. He’d be sitting here with that roguish smirk, eager to do what was required of him. As night fell, so did the temperatures, and Peeta crawled inside the sleeping bag and soon fell asleep.

_I am going to die._

But something was different about this nightmare. He wasn’t in the mountains outside the lodge, but in the middle of the VB Arena, lying prone in the snow, his rifle in front of him, waiting for another competitor to cross his path, when the attack came.

 _‘Stupid creature!’_ his mother yelled at him. _‘You’re supposed to watch your back.’_

This was all wrong— nothing in the Games was supposed to kill you— but the searing pain defied all logic. A tiny part of his brain gave a mirthless laugh at the notion that nightmares followed any rules. But after so many years, this new version was more terrifying for its unpredictability.

A flash of dark wings was visible in his peripheral vision. Not claws shredding his back this time, but talons. Why this place? And why the change of predator? Peeta needed to understand it. He struggled and twisted, trying to get a glimpse beyond the black feathers, expecting to see glowing red eyes. But instead he saw only gray— unfathomable, like the rest of the Arena, and strangely captivating.

The bird let out a scream and, as he raised his arms to defend himself, its huge black wings enveloped him in darkness.

In a panic, Peeta sat up and searched for his rifle. It was dark, and for a moment he was certain he was still trapped in the nightmare. But as soon as the gun was in his hands, he began to regain his grip on reality. Commanding his heart rate to drop, he considered this new amalgamation of images. The mission had intruded into his nightmare, which, given the circumstances, shouldn’t come as a surprise.

His body was stiff from the cramped, cold conditions, so he stretched and flexed his limbs, trying to restore circulation. When he lifted a branch he was greeted by the strange, shadowless twilight that preceded dawn. He ate a quick meal, gathered up his things, and set out, anxious to get this mission over with.

Not long after the sun rose above the mountains, the Mockingjay’s trail led him to a cabin tucked into a thick grove of trees. It wasn’t marked on his map. The dense canopy of mostly deciduous growth, even bare of leaves, had hidden the building from aerial detection. He watched the cabin for any signs of activity and, once reassured that there was no one nearby, he crept up and looked in the window. As expected, it was empty. He tried the door, found it unbarred, and went inside. Removing a glove, he laid a hand on the wood stove. The cast iron retained a little heat. She’d spent the night here.

 _In more comfort than me,_ he thought and gave a huff.

With daylight hours ticking away, Peeta closed the door and circled the perimeter until he found the girl’s trail. The trees were denser and the terrain steeper than the previous day, so he removed his snowshoes and strapped them on his pack.

Soon after midday, Peeta heard the low roar of rushing water. Up ahead, light penetrated the gloom where a river cut through the forest. He identified the river from his map and decided to eat a quick lunch while under the cover of the trees before going any farther.

When he reached the edge of the forest, he cautiously surveilled the open ground that flanked the large river coursing through a rocky canyon. The noise was a blessing and a curse. It made him blind to the approach of danger. But it also shielded him from exposure.

Peeta continued following the girl’s tracks south, staying just inside the tree line, when he saw her. He dropped down, crouching in the snow. The girl was standing beside a small creek that drained into the larger river, and, though her back was to him, he knew she was the Mockingjay. Her hood was down, the long, dark braid in stark contrast against her pale leather parka.

A bow was slung across her back and a hide quiver hung from a strap over her shoulder. Sleek, metal arrows looked out of place alongside rustic ones fletched with feathers.

 _So that’s how she was able to take down those drones._ The corner of Peeta’s mouth ticked up. Nothing like a little rebel technology to enhance their _‘ordinary girl’_ propaganda image.

The girl stuffed her mittens into one of her pockets, screwed off the top of a canteen, and crouched down to refill it from the creek. She hadn’t detected him, even though he was less than fifteen yards away. He watched as she took a drink and then placed the canteen in a small bag that sat on the ground beside her.

Peeta tucked away his gloves, reached into his breast pocket, and removed the magazine of stun darts. Never letting his eyes stray from the girl, he exchanged it for the one with regular cartridges in his rifle. As an afterthought he removed the package of plastic flex cuffs from his pack and stuffed them into his pants pocket for easy retrieval.

The girl stood up and reached into her pocket, but instead of removing her mittens, she took something else out and seemed occupied with manipulating it with her fingers. Peeta squinted to try to see what held her rapt attention. Whatever it was, it was small.

He pulled back the bolt to chamber the first dart and raised to a hunched stance. He’d been told the darts had limited range compared to regular ammo, so he crept through the trees, whispering a silent thanks for the thundering noise of the river. Peeta was only a few yards away when he stepped clear of the trees and raised his rifle.

But before he could take aim, the girl’s back stiffened, and she whipped around. Peeta caught a glimpse of something blue in her clenched fist, but instead of dropping it in order to grab her bow, inconceivably she took that precious second to stuff it back into her pocket. She stood, wide-eyed, frozen, unsure what to do.

He had her trapped.

But he had a problem. She was too close to the edge. If he shot her, there was a good chance he’d lose her to the river. He would need to be near enough to grab her when the stun dart took effect.

With his rifle trained on the girl, Peeta closed the distance. He could see in her eyes that she knew there was no way to arm her bow faster than he could take her out with the gun. She furrowed her brow, likely confused as to why he hadn’t fired, when he saw the dawning realization in her face. Her eyes narrowed. They stood staring at each other, white vapor puffing out of their lungs, as adrenaline pumped through both their bodies.

The girl glanced quickly over her shoulder at the waterfall behind her, and he knew immediately what she was considering. Alarmed, he took a step forward just as she took a step back. The layer of snow broke away, and it must have startled the girl, too, because her mouth opened in a gasp and her eyes grew wide in surprise.

Just as she slipped over the edge, Peeta threw his rifle to the ground, leapt forward and, landing on his stomach, managed to grasp her wrist before she went over the edge. It was the first time he’d been this close to notice her eyes. If he hadn’t been so focused on holding on, he’d have had more time to admire how beautiful they were— fierce, like clouds during an electrical storm, but also a little haunted. Not what he had expected. But right now the primary thing on his mind was the twenty or so feet between the ledge and the foaming white cauldron at the bottom of the falls.

She shot a panicked look down at the river churning below, but when she turned her face back to him, he saw resignation. He knew the look well. It was the moment when prey realizes there is no escape. But this wasn’t the same as shooting an animal on a hunting trip. Nor was it like scoring a hit on a fellow competitor in the Games. This was the nightmarish intersection of both. Even after years of burying such emotions, it felt like a stab in his heart.

He gritted his teeth and muttered, “Hold on.”

However, the girl had other ideas. She glanced down at the frigid water again as he tried to improve his grip to drag her back up from the precipice. This time when she met his gaze, she was calm. A hatred, as cold as the icy water, lived in her eyes. With a snarl, she twisted and writhed to free herself from his grasp.

It was Peeta’s turn to panic, realizing that if she succeeded she could die. The Capitol wanted her alive. With a final, determined wrench of her body, she flashed him a defiant sneer filled with bitter satisfaction, and she slipped from his grasp. She clamped her hands over her mouth just before she was lost in the white froth of water below.

Peeta was frantic as he searched the roiling water, releasing a tense breath when her head popped up down river. Her arms were flailing, fighting the current as it carried her away. He didn’t have much time to react. He doubted she could fight the strong current for long. She would drown or be lost under the ice, and he would have failed. And failure was not an option.

In a single, fluid motion, Peeta rose to his feet, shrugged out of his backpack, and slung the rifle securely across his back. He zipped up his parka around this throat as his eyes darted down at his gear. He was loath to leave it behind, but he’d just have to find a way to come back for it later. He glanced once more at the girl disappearing down the river and then back to the pool below.

“Shit,” he grimaced, and, without further thought, he stepped off the ledge and plunged into the icy foam.

He clamped his mouth shut to save himself from the gag reflex that he knew would hit him when he hit the freezing water. Still, he came up sputtering from the shock and the impact with the water. But he managed to keep the water out of his lungs. His clothes were Capitol high tech, with insulating properties even when wet. Even so, they weren’t designed for submersion, and it took all of his strength to keep his head above water. Peeta was in peak shape for endurance, but swimming was never his strength.

He could see the girl rising and falling, swept along with the churning water, and he knew she wasn’t so lucky. She may be in good physical condition, but her heavy clothing was dragging her down. She wasn’t thrashing as much, and he thought that the frigid water was beginning to affect her ability to control her limbs.

They dropped down a small set of rapids, and when they came around a curve, he saw her drifting to the outer bank. Her arms were outstretched and barely moving. Her face was upturned but repeatedly disappeared under the surface. He grew alarmed as she was drawn toward a ledge of thick ice stretching over the edge of the river.

 _If she goes under, I’ll lose her,_ he told himself.

He summoned all his strength and ordered his arms and legs to pump, desperate to close the distance. He faltered when a heavy object struck his shoulder. It was his pack, and he reached out to save it. More of the snow must have given way when he leapt from the ledge, causing it to tumble into the river behind him. A second later, Peeta knew he had to choose. He couldn’t save both his gear and the girl. He released the pack to the current.

Just in time he reached out and grabbed the scruff of the girl’s coat. He watched as his backpack, holding his snow shoes, sleeping bag, all his food, extra ammo, almost everything he needed, disappear under the ice.

With powerful kicks and by using his free arm to stroke against the water, he dragged them back out into the current and across to the opposite bank, the same side they’d started out on. He pulled the girl out of the water and collapsed on the ground, fighting the urge to throw up from the exertion.

Peeta rolled her over and was relieved to see she was still breathing, though she was only semiconscious. She still had her bow across her body, but the quiver and arrows were gone. Then he saw the blood flowing from under her hairline, down over the left side of her face. She must have collided with a rock or some other debris.

He flashed back to when he was a young boy and he’d made his first kill. His father had spotted the doe and whispered for him to take the shot. It hadn’t been a clean kill, and it had taken a long time of tracking the blood trail before they finally found her bleeding out, staining the newly fallen November snow, panting as the life seeped out of her.

His father had handed him a knife and told him to finish her off. With a trembling hand he reached forward to cut her throat, but her eyes met his, full of the same resignation he’d seen in the girl, and he couldn’t do it. He was frozen, hovering over her. The knife had dropped from his hand, and he’d turned aside, retching on the ground, tears in his eyes.

Rye had snickered, but his father had sighed, picked up the knife, and did it himself.

 _‘It gets easier,’_ his father had told him.

The memory of his weakness that day was just as vivid as he watched the blood from the girl’s head wound coloring the snow red. The scent of death was in the air. The dying deer. Rye’s body blown to bits. The red of blood and the menacing eyes in the dark. He shook his head to clear his mind to focus on the imminent problem.

They needed to find shelter. The girl would not last long cold, wet and injured. Peeta was already beginning to feel the chill settling in from the brief respite. He needed to keep moving if he was going to stay warm. Without his gear, his situation was even more perilous. But it was pointless to wallow in the consequences of that loss. He still had his rifle. He patted his pockets and felt the magazine in one. In another he could feel the flex cuffs and the map.

The girl moaned and began to struggle, her arms flailing around her in the snow. Peeta thought of how his first instinct was to always search out his rifle after the nightmares. Maybe she was reaching for an arrow, unaware they were lost to the river. When her eyes opened, she tried to claw at his face in a vain attempt to escape. Despite her weakened state, her will was strong, and Peeta didn’t have the time or energy for a fight. He reached for his rifle and fired the stun dart. She collapsed within seconds, unconscious. Reaching into his pocket he took out two flex cuffs and bound her wrists and ankles.

With the girl restrained, he checked her head wound. Using some snow, he cleaned away the blood to get a better look. It wasn’t too bad, but he unzipped his parka and stripped out a section of lining to use as a bandage. Then he sat back against a tree trunk to give his heart a chance to settle into a more steady rhythm. And to give himself time to think. His stubborn refusal to settle for anything less than victory kicked in.

He wasn’t certain how far downstream they were, but consulting the map he thought he could identify the curve in the river. He wondered how close they were to the cabin in which the girl had spent the night.

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmured to himself. It was his best option. It was like finishing the last five miles of the course in the Games, when his legs felt like they would collapse, and his heart and lungs protested painfully in his chest. There had always been that hidden reserve that got him over the finishing line. Today was no different. He’d trained for moments like this.

He was kneeling beside the girl when a flash of blue emerging from her pocket caught his eye. Curious what could be so precious that she would choose saving it over saving herself, he reached in and drew it out. He furrowed his brow in confusion. It was just a blue ribbon. He shook his head, trying to fathom why something so trivial could mean so much to her.

He pulled the mittens from her pocket and slipped them over her cold hands. Though they were wet, they were lined with fur. He was relieved that he’d managed to save his gloves as well. Once they were on his hands, he heaved the girl up over his shoulders the way he would when carrying out a deer or mountain lion, clasping her arms and legs over his chest, her body slumped across the top of his back.

Peeta glanced at her head where it lolled against his upper arm. He tucked her hood around her head, covering her wet hair. It would cut down on the wind chill at least. With a deep inhalation, he got to his feet, picked up his rifle, and began the trek back to the cabin.


	3. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeta's mission is hampered by unexpected complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thrilled to include another gorgeous banner, this one courtesy of the lovely and talented otrascosasseries. Thank you! <3!

 

**Chapter 3 - The Prisoner**

The sun had dropped below the mountains by the time Peeta intersected the trail he and the girl had made earlier in the day. Twilight soon faded, but the brightness of the snow, even under a cloudy, darkened sky, illuminated the way back to the cabin. He was certain that the moment he stopped moving he would collapse.

He was exhausted and cold and beyond caring about anything except getting warm when he unceremoniously dumped the girl on the bed and went outside to search for firewood. He found a decent-sized wood pile buried under a foot of snow beside the cabin, and he made several trips bringing in an ample supply. Next, he grabbed the cast iron pot from on top of the stove and made one last trip outside, filling it with snow and returned it to the stove to melt.

Peeta used the ax he found inside the cabin to split some of the wood into kindling and to shave off paper-thin strips that would be easier to light. But then his heart sank when he realized he had nothing with which to light a fire. However, he refused to let the cold beat him. This was an Outlier cabin, so he searched blindly in the dark around the woodstove until he found the flint he was certain would be there. He’d never used one to light a fire before, but he’d seen it done by a friend of his father who considered himself a genuine outdoorsman. He glanced over at the Mockingjay passed out on the bed. It was a given she would know how to do it.

After several attempts, Peeta was successful, and his little pile of wood shavings and kindling caught fire. Just in time, too, as his fingers were growing numb. He began to shiver now that the exertion of the hike was over and the temperature was dropping.

He checked off his strategy list in his head. One— get to shelter. Two— build a fire.

Once he was certain the fire was well established, Peeta began step three of his post-river survival plan— get out of the waterlogged, icy clothing and get it dry.

The cabin was small, comprised of one room, roughly ten by twelve feet, with the addition of a narrow storage room across the back. The cupboard in the main room held a few items which would be useful later— blankets, candles, a few dishes. But he found what he was looking for in the back— a long length of rope. He strung it up across the living space between a support post and a hook on the wall to the left of the wood stove which sat a couple feet into the room.

He unlaced his boots and set them beside the stove. Then he stripped out of his parka, snow pants, and turtleneck sweater and hung them over the makeshift clothesline. He sat on the end of the bed and peeled off his socks and hung them up, too. After dragging one of the ladder-back chairs from the small dining table over to the wood stove, Peeta set his gloves on the seat, propping them up against the rails.

He ran a hand over his skin-tight base layer, and was pleased that the long-sleeved top and pants were already dry. They were made of the same synthetic material he wore in the Games, excellent for thermal retention and wicking away moisture despite their thin weight.

Peeta’s stomach gave a rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in hours. The memory of his pack disappearing under the ice along with all his food left a hollow ache in his gut. He gave a rueful sigh. What he wouldn’t give for one of those tasteless rations now.

The heat from the woodstove was starting to permeate the small cabin, and, having looked after himself, it was time to deal with the girl. He walked over to the side of the bed where she lay facing away from him and studied her for a moment.

The defiant Mockingjay, the would-be destroyer of Panem, looked vulnerable lying defenseless, cuffed, and unconscious before him. Then he remembered the fierce countenance in that photo and the way she’d sneered with such vehemence at him as she dangled above the waterfall. And he thought of Rye.

With tight lips, Peeta cursed his moment of weakness and pulled the bow that was still hanging across her body up over her head. He leaned it up against the wall close to the bed beside his rifle. Next, he rolled her over onto her back. Her lips were blue and she was shivering uncontrollably. He frowned, worried about whether her unconsciousness was due to her time in the river or the lingering effects of the stun dart.

The girl’s hands were ice cold when he removed her mittens. He blew a warm breath on his cupped fingers and began to unfasten the toggles of her parka. When he saw a knife sheath hanging from the belt on her pants, he smiled. He removed the hunting knife and was impressed with the quality of the blade and the balance of it in his hand. He’d lost his in the river. Peeta unbuckled her belt and, along with the knife, placed it on the table. Next, he unlaced her boots and eased them off from under the ankle cuffs. He couldn’t help admiring the soft leather and workmanship, as he set them beside his own.

Once her socks were hanging from the line, he was faced with a dilemma. The girl’s bound wrists and ankles left him with no choice. He doubted she was in any condition to pose a problem, so he used her knife to slice through both sets of flex cuffs. He got her coat off and added it to the line. When he reached for the hem of her sweater he hesitated. It was such an intimate thing to strip off the clothing of a person, even under these emergency conditions, and especially given their… relationship. But concern for her welfare won out and, one-by-one, he removed the layers down to her utilitarian underwear and tank top. At that, he drew the line.

She was a lot smaller than he’d envisioned. He knew she must be physically strong for her size and tough enough to survive out in the woods. But seeing her up close and exposed— her slender frame, her dainty hands, and the graceful curve of her lips and high cheekbones— she appeared almost delicate. For a brief moment he wondered what she’d look like in the clingy, lacy, silky things that women wore in the Capitol, and he felt his face flush guiltily at having such thoughts.

With her pants, long underwear, long-sleeved top, and sweater on the line, Peeta retrieved the remaining flex cuffs. There were only four left. He selected one and left the rest on the table.

Once he had the cuffs on the girl’s wrists, he shook out the blanket that was folded at the top of the bed and draped it over her. _Good._ He returned to the cupboard and grabbed two more blankets that he’d seen earlier. They were all musty, but made of thick wool.

That left one final step in Peeta’s post-river survival plan— deal with the girl’s hypothermia. He took a deep breath and crawled over the foot of the bed to lie alongside the girl, tucking all the blankets around both of them. _Better._

The bed was comprised of a lumpy mattress, which he figured might be filled with some kind of straw, set on top of a solid platform of sturdy construction. It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept upon, but at least it beat sleeping on the cold, hard ground under that spruce tree.

He leaned over the girl to check the bandage on her head. Some of her hair had come loose from the braid, and, for some reason, he felt compelled to smooth the damp strands that lay stuck to her face away from her eyes.

Peeta pulled the girl against him to share his warmth with her shivering body. Though there was no fight in her now, when she awoke, she’d be a handful. So he gathered her in his arms, her back against his chest, wrapping her so tightly in his embrace that her arms were fully restrained against her chest. If she made even the slightest movement he would be ready. Despite his exhaustion, he doubted he would sleep soundly tonight anyway. With the Mockingjay so close, the nightmares were certain to visit.

The warm, orange glow and heat from the woodstove radiated a coziness that conflicted with everything he knew to be true. Maybe it was the accumulated stress of the last couple of days, his trip down the river, and the effort of carrying the girl, but Peeta felt a pleasant drowsiness enfolding him as he hugged her to his body. It was such an unexpected and peaceful sensation he allowed himself to close his eyes.

He was startled awake when he felt the girl struggling inside his arms and saw that the dawn light was pouring in through the windows. He tightened his vise-like grip with his arms and flung a muscular leg over hers to pin her down. She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat that reminded him of a growl.

“Stop,” he ordered, his mouth close to her ear. “I don’t want to have to use another dart on you, but I will if you make me.”

He really didn’t want to have to resort to knocking her out. He had a sufficient supply of the stun darts, but the thought of having to deal with an unconscious prisoner again made him weary. She gave one last petulant attempt to wrench herself free, but then grew still.

“Good,” he said.

They both lay motionless for a moment, each considering their next move. With one arm still holding her hands against her chest, he lifted his head and reached up to check her bandage. Her wound had stopped bleeding, so he slipped the bandage off the top of her head. In the process his hand smoothed over her dark hair, now dry, and the faint caress made her stiffen in his arms.

Even from his awkward vantage, he saw in her eyes a flash of alarm. He felt a rush of blood to his face as he was reminded of the scant amount of clothing between them. He slid away just enough so that he could scramble up and sit straddling her thighs, using his body weight to immobilize her. She rolled onto her back, and their eyes locked on each other. With one hand still restraining her arms, and without breaking eye contact, he leaned over the edge of the bed and reached for his rifle. Once he had it in his grip, he levelled a warning frown at her and tentatively released his hold on her arms.

“You were hypothermic,” he explained in a steady voice he hoped would keep her from doing anything rash.

The girl’s cheeks were aflame with a rosy flush, her eyes alight with a feral fire. He wasn’t sure if her chest was rising and falling in rage, or if it was out of fear, but she didn’t attempt to fight.

An idea prompted Peeta to retreat to the foot of the bed. Keeping the rifle pointed in the girl’s direction, he stood and reached into her parka pocket. He held out the blue ribbon. Her eyes widened, first in surprise, and then in anguish.

“I made sure it didn’t get lost. It seemed important to you.”

He moved toward her, lowering the rifle, and held out the ribbon as a concession. She reached up and snatched it out of his hand.

“I’m going to get your clothes from the line so you can get dressed. Are you going to cooperate?”

She gave a terse nod, so he backed up to the line, rifle at the ready, and reached for her clothing. He tossed her garments on the bed at her feet. She wiggled into her long underwear and pants and pulled on her socks, but, when she got to her top and sweater, she stared at him with her stormy, gray eyes and held up her bound wrists.

Peeta sighed and picked up the hunting knife. Each wary of the other, the girl stretched out her arms and he cut the flex cuffs. He quickly levelled the rifle back on her. To his relief she didn’t try to exploit this small freedom, but instead flung the cuffs to the floor and finished dressing herself.

When she was done fastening the last toggle on her parka, the girl pulled on her boots but remained sitting on the bed. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot, and Peeta realized his own state of undress. Though he wasn’t particularly modest, her scrutiny made him uneasy. He reached for a new set of cuffs and waved the rifle barrel at her hands. She narrowed her eyes, and he caught them darting around the room, looking for a way to gain an advantage.

“Look,” Peeta said. “If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it when you were unconscious. I’m not here to kill you.” She looked at him with suspicion in her eyes. “You’re a prisoner of the Capitol, and I’m here to deliver you to them. Alive.”

She took a moment to digest this news, likely debating her options, and then she obediently extended her wrists for him to cuff. Once he tossed his clothing onto the table and released the rope clothesline, he used it to tie her bound wrists to the sturdy leg of the bed frame. She sat glowering, cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

As Peeta slipped into his clothes, he thought about asking the girl for her name, but quickly dismissed the idea. It was easier if he didn’t know. If she was simply a prisoner, a mission to fulfill, he could keep his mind clear. Allowing himself to think of the Mockingjay as a real person would only complicate things— would make him weak.

While training for the Games he had refined the skill of objectifying his opponents. But it was finding the balance that had made him so effective— allow just enough empathy to get inside a competitor’s head to anticipate their strategy, while not letting himself care so much that it would negatively affect his own. Even though he had the discipline to repress his natural compassion, for some reason, when it came to the girl, he was unnerved by his inability to get a read on what made her tick.

_She’s the Mockingjay,_ he coached himself. _Treat her like any other predator, and she won’t get the better of you._

Peeta consulted his map. The closest extraction point was less than ten miles to the west. Not far, but it meant leaving the forest and crossing a couple miles of open country. He grimaced. Without snowshoes, the deeper snow would make the walk slow and arduous.

His stomach rumbled, but he tried to ignore it. The cabin was freezing now that the fire from the previous night had burned itself out with the new day. Anxious to get on their way as soon as possible, he didn’t see the point of rebuilding it.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked the girl.

When she nodded, he went to the cupboard and removed a mug. He blew out the dust and filled it with water from the pot on the stove. While she drank he pondered how he was going to get her to cooperate for the hike. There was no way she’d go willingly. He only had two unused cuffs left, and the idea of carrying her or having to fashion some kind of sled to drag her all the way seemed impractical.

_Maybe if she thinks there’s a chance for escape,_ he reasoned. _Appeal to her natural instincts._

He’d leave her ankles free and give just enough rope, just enough hope, to fool her into thinking she might get away when his guard was low. He was surprised when she spoke for the first time.

In a quiet voice filled with melancholy, she whispered, “Please just kill me. Don’t turn me over to them.”

If she had sent an arrow straight into his heart, it wouldn’t have delivered any more potent of an impact. A strange vertigo came upon him, not unlike what he experienced in the whirling snow when he’d first arrived in the Arena. But instead of stemming from a lack of visual anchor, it originated from deep inside, rattling his already shaky conviction in the mission. And in his ability to do this thing. It forced him to drop into a chair.

“I don’t have a choice,” he murmured back. It was a feeble excuse, and she knew it, too. Her face lost the vulnerable, waif-like quality and took on the defiant one from the river.

“Everybody has a choice,” she spit back, then added with haughty judgment, “I’m nobody’s slave.”

Her response made Peeta indignant. “Well, good for you,” he snapped back. “Just keep reminding yourself about that as the rest of Panem burns because of you.”

When she frowned and looked puzzled, her feigned innocence restored his determination and got him back on track with his plan. He took the mug from her, poured some water for himself and, when he was done, he untied the rope from the bed frame and gave it a tug.

“Get up,” he ordered in a voice so cold he didn’t recognize it. “We have a long walk before us, and I want to get there while there’s still plenty of daylight.”

Peeta took one last look around the cabin before he closed the door. The girl’s bow remained, leaning up against the wall. There was a perplexing combination of anxiety and sadness in the pit of his stomach. He told himself it was due to the difficult day ahead. It would all be better when they reached the outpost and he could put this mission— and the Mockingjay— behind him. With the rope wound around his wrist and the rifle in his hand, he swung the door closed with a decisive thud.

When they reached a steep drop-off at the edge of the forest, the girl said she needed to pee. She began to unbutton her pants, and, out of decency, Peeta turned away, looking instead over the valley they would need to cross. His quick reflexes kicked in just in time when she flung the slack in the rope around her neck and tried to leap off of the ledge. He wrestled the girl to the ground as she writhed and cried out in frustration.

Peeta had expected an attempted escape, but not suicide. It was careless of him after her words in the cabin, and, with her pinned down in the snow underneath him, he saw the despair flood her mercurial eyes. They were no longer sharp with rage, but cloudy with a pain he knew well. But as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability vanished, and the girl returned to her unreadable self.

After her failed attempt to hang herself, the girl didn’t make the first stretch of the trek across the valley easy. Peeta almost had to carry her through the thigh-high snow for almost a half a mile. Eventually she tired of struggling. He suspected stubborn pride was the only thing that kept her from lying down and forcing him to drag her. Or maybe she was strategizing a plan of escape. He would if he were in her place.

Halfway across the open land the cloud level dropped low, and the air grew heavy with the threat of snow. The white ground and the misty sky blended into one indiscernible tableau. The girl trudged along in the path he broke, her hands held out in front of her as he kept the rope taut, tugging her after him, her head downcast.

Peeta glanced back every few steps, keeping a wary watch on the girl. Her lips were drawn tight in a scowl, but the top half of her face was hidden by the white fur trim of her hood. He imagined menacing, red eyes hiding there like all the ones who hated him in his nightmares. The ones who would do him harm if he gave them the chance.

He knitted his brows as he pondered the huge, black bird of prey from his dream the first night here in the Arena, and how its eyes hadn’t been red, but gray, like the girl’s. Still, the phantom bird had attacked him, same as the grizzly. The worst thing the girl had done since he’d captured her was try to harm herself.

_Because I haven’t given her a chance._

The closer they drew to the outpost, the more conflicted Peeta became as he led the girl to her captors. He rationalized that being out in the open with such limited visibility was making him uneasy. He glanced behind him again at the girl’s bound wrists tethered to the rope in his hands. The featureless snow was making him vulnerable to confusion, causing him to lose focus and doubt himself.

He’d seen the photos, read the briefing. Whatever else the girl was, she was the Mockingjay. And yet, in the absence of visual stimuli, his mind conceived of terrible things that the Capitol might do to her.

_But I don’t have a choice,_ he reminded himself, even though the words were repellent in his mind.

They didn’t see the smoke until they were less than a quarter mile from the Capitol outpost. Foreboding crept into Peeta’s chest the closer they got. But the sight of it seemed to rejuvenate the girl. She stopped dragging behind, and the rope went slack as they covered the last stretch.

What they found was a smoldering ruin. The machinery was demolished, the temporary shelters had been ransacked and set ablaze, and there were half a dozen bodies grown stiff in the snow. The girl reached down and pulled an arrow out of the back of one soldier and the corner of her mouth quirked up. Peeta wondered if she could recognize the assassin by the style of the arrow. He took it from her hands, snapped it over his knee, and tossed it away. He had no intention of allowing the girl to arm herself.

Peeta picked through the ruins, looking for any kind of communication device. He hadn’t been given one because they couldn’t risk a secure-channel device falling into rebel hands. Being sent in alone, without military backup, left him too vulnerable.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence,_ he’d thought to himself at the time.

There was nothing in operational condition. The radio had been shot up with what he expected was Capitol gunfire.

_Well, at least they hadn’t let the tech be captured._

His protesting stomach had him digging through debris, looking for food. It wasn’t easy with the rifle in hand and the girl on a short rope, so he was surprised when she started poking through the mess as well. They came up empty. Dread flooded his arteries, leaving him cold and anxious.

_What am I supposed to do now?_ he demanded of the destroyed outpost.

The girl sank down onto the ground, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her shoulders hunched up, guarding against the increasingly bitter breeze. With her face obscured by her hood, it was impossible to read her state of mind. Probably a lot happier than he was right now, though her body language said otherwise.

With the rope wound securely around his wrist, Peeta sat down on an upturned, heartlessly bare crate marked ‘Food Rations’ and, using both hands, he unfolded his map. The next closest extraction point was over ten miles south. All through open land and deep snow. He heaved an exasperated sigh. It would take much longer than today’s hike, and it was already growing late. They’d have to spend the night here in whatever shelter they could manage. The prospect of another night without food threatened to crush his spirit.

Should he sit here and wait, hoping for Abernathy to come to his rescue? A pinprick of cold, like an icy needle, fell on his cheek.

_Great,_ Peeta muttered in silence as the snowflake melted on his skin.

He looked up at the leaden sky and wondered how bad it was going to get. He needed a new strategy. Staying here he felt exposed, a sitting duck. If the snowstorm— and he knew it was a storm by the weight of the gusting air— was as bad as he thought, this place offered no adequate shelter.

_I have no choice_. Why did it always seem to come down to no choices for him? Maybe the girl was his prisoner, but he felt like the one who was trapped.

They’d have to backtrack to the cabin. They wouldn’t need to break a new trail. And if they left now, they might get ahead of the worst of the storm. Once they reached the forest it would be easier, too, though it would be growing dark by then. He adjusted his hood and stuffed the map back in his pocket.

Peeta gave the rope a tug and the girl looked up in expectation. He thought he saw a hint of satisfaction in her impassive face at his misfortune. Why wouldn’t she be pleased? The odds were in her favor today.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?” she asked.

He tipped his head east. “Back to the cabin. If we can keep up a good pace, maybe we can get to the trees before this storm gets too bad.”

She glanced at the sky and, nodding, rose to her feet.

It was a full-fledged blizzard by the time they reached the cabin. Peeta was beyond relieved to be back there. He didn’t care about the mission. He just wanted to get inside, get a fire going, and rest. The girl seemed to share his view, as she let out a deep sigh and sank into one of the chairs after he closed the door.

Once he’d dragged the girl’s chair over to the support post so he could tie the rope to it, Peeta’s next priority was building a fire. He glanced at the girl as he worked, but she seemed to realize the futility of trying to release the knots. He was much faster with the flint this time, and soon the woodstove grew warm enough that he was able to take off his parka. He glanced at the girl. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat. She’d unfastened her parka and let it fall off her shoulders, but the cuffs prevented its removal.

She didn’t seem inclined to escape. Where would she go, anyway? It was dark out, and the storm was getting worse. Howling winds seeped under the door and through tiny gaps around the windows. As for his own safety, Peeta had his rifle and her knife. He considered the ax. He could only keep track of so many weapons in his sleep, so he took it to the storage room and tucked it up in the rafters out of sight.

When he returned to the main room, Peeta took out the knife and approached the girl. She extended her arms, looking agreeable. He severed the cuffs and let them fall along with the attached rope to the floor. She shrugged out of her parka, but when she rose from the chair, he waved the rifle as a warning, so she sat back down, rubbing her wrists. The blizzard outside the cabin paled in comparison to the chilly scowl on her face.

Peeta licked his chapped lips. What he’d give for something to eat. Even those horrible rations were looking gourmet. Rifle in hand, he started going through the cupboard and glanced into the back room again, though he knew it was pointless.

“If you’re looking for food, check down there.” The girl tipped her head to the center of the room beside the chair where she sat. He hadn’t noticed the rusty latch on the floor before. He realized it was a hatch, probably for a cellar.

“There’s food down there?” he asked.

She looked incredulous. “Where else would it be stored?”

_In refrigerators,_ he thought. _Oh yeah, this is Outlier country, not the Capitol._

He grew suspicious. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Why would I want to help you?”

“But you are now,” he replied.

She shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

Peeta walked over to the hatch and lifted it. A steep, narrow set of stairs led to a crawl space underneath the cabin. He looked at the girl and tipped his head down at the hole. She got up and obediently climbed down. He considered the possibility of a hidden weapon in the cellar and remained alert, but when she came up her arms were loaded with a variety of food items. With the hatch closed, he inspected the modest bounty on the table.

There was some kind of meat. It looked more petrified than preserved. A collection of desiccated onions and indiscernible root vegetables. And a variety of dried herbs. He imagined that if he could find it in himself to crave those unpalatable military rations, how bad could this be?

“Is that all of it?” he asked. The girl nodded.

She picked up one of the shrivelled small roots and grinned. “If you can find yourself, you’ll never starve,” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Peeta asked.

“Just something my father taught me.” She didn’t add any further explanation.

Peeta decided the best option was to simply chop it all up and make a soup out of it. It was impossible to tell what it would taste like, but at this point it hardly seemed important. He figured if the girl was willing to eat this stuff, it must be okay and wouldn’t make him sick.

Later, as they ate, the silence between them weighed on Peeta, so he asked, “Is this your house?”

She looked up from her bowl and shook her head. “Nothing this nice,” she replied.

Peeta almost choked on his soup, but coughed to cover up his reaction when she looked up at him with knit brows. This cabin would barely even be considered a hovel in the Capitol.

“But you stayed here the night before… before we met up.” She said nothing. “So you know whose it is?”

She looked at him as if he were daft. “Of course. All of us know where the others live.”

It occurred to Peeta that this was a key to their survival. The Outliers banded together, helped each other out. How different from his life, where everyone looked out for their own best interests first. He saw his father in his nightmare, indifferent, watching the grizzly as it attacked him. He recalled his mother’s scorn. He thought of his own relentless pursuit of perfection in the Games. He sucked in a deep breath and massaged the back of his neck.

_People did what they needed to do to survive._

The idea rolled around in his mind, whirling like the snow outside the window. But before it could take shape, Peeta pushed his empty bowl away, his eyelids growing heavy and his body spent. The girl was finished, too, so he rose from the table and placed the empty bowls on top of the cupboard. He’d clean up tomorrow. Today had been enough work. He was pleased to see plenty leftover in the pot for another day.

With the rifle by his side, Peeta sat on the bed and removed his boots. He began to strip down to his thermal underwear, when his eyes caught the girl staring at him. He considered what he should do with her. He could use one of the cuffs, maybe on her ankles, to keep her hobbled. Without a knife they would be next to impossible to cut. But after the way she’d helped him locate the food, it seemed a distasteful thing to do to her. Besides, he might need the cuffs later when the storm had passed.

The dark circles under her eyes and the slump of her shoulders indicated that she was as weary as he was after their long trek. He decided he could handle her if she tried to attack him. Would she try to harm herself?

Despite her attempt to hang herself earlier in the day, she didn’t seem especially suicidal now, so he doubted she’d sneak off while he slept. He sighed. And what if she did? If a fully armed military outpost couldn’t withstand attack, Abernathy and the rest of command couldn’t expect him to fulfill his mission to the letter. If she froze to death out there, at least the Mockingjay threat was eliminated. Still, the perfectionism that had become so entangled in his psyche railed against the thought of failure.

But Peeta was so tired. Tired of strategizing while watching his back. Tired of thinking about the girl’s fate. Tired of trying to figure her out. Tired of all of it.

He gestured to the spot beside him on the bed, but the girl didn’t move.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and laid down under the blankets, the rifle and knife within his grasp. He was too exhausted to worry about what she did.

When Peeta awoke in the middle of night to a freezing cabin, he rose to restore the fire. The girl was huddled on the floor beside the stove at the foot of the bed. She was wrapped in one of the blankets, her parka spread out beneath her to insulate herself from the cold ground. Her eyes opened as he stepped over her.

He couldn’t help think of the crowds of eager young women after his victory, surging forward from behind barriers, hungry to get a piece of him. How he had hated every moment of it as Effie escorted him to his next event.

He heaved a sigh at the girl. “Trust me, I don’t need to force anyone if _that’s_ what you’re worried about. You don’t need to sleep on the floor.”

Scowling, she pulled the blanket up under her chin, closed her eyes, and curled up in a ball. If he’d been better rested, Peeta might have been able to sort out whether he was hurt or impressed that she was repulsed by him.

Still, he felt bad for her, so he gave her a second blanket. With the fire rekindled, he could get by on the bed with just the one. He was pretty sure down there on the floor it was freezing. Peeta closed his eyes and returned to sleep.


	4. The Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranded by the snowstorm, Peeta and Katniss forge a tentative truce, leading to some surprising revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m excited to reveal this gorgeous banner, created by the amazing loving-mellark! Thank you so much! <3!
> 
> Hugs to the three wonderful women who helped make this chapter as good as it can be: papofglencoe, finduilasnumenesse, and titaniasfics. It makes me smile how your three initials spell 'pft'— it's a great reminder to me to relax and not take my writing anxiety too seriously! :-)
> 
> To everyone who has let me know you are enjoying my story: <3!

 

**Chapter 4 - The Alliance**

The girl was waiting by the door when Peeta returned with an armload of firewood. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, she pushed the door closed against the bitter winds that fought to keep it open. In the few seconds it had taken for him to enter, snow had chased him inside and accumulated on the floor. More fell from his hair and clothing as he shrugged out of his parka. But the moment the door was barred shut, the snow began to melt from the heat of the woodstove.

They didn’t need to say it to know they wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time to come. The girl handed him pieces of wood that he fed into the stove. It struck Peeta as curious how, since they’d gotten back to the cabin, they had worked in unspoken partnership. Even though the girl had refused to share the bed last night, today she’d been less hostile. She knew he meant her no harm— at least for as long as the blizzard lasted and they were trapped there, he reminded himself.

Maybe it was a game she was playing, biding her time until he let down his guard enough so that she could get her hands on the rifle that never left his side.

The girl lifted the lid on the pot to check the leftover soup reheating on the stove.

Still, there was something... _nice_ about being stranded here with her. They were warm, and— for now— fed. His situation had become more precarious, and yet he couldn’t help appreciate the girl’s presence. Peeta furrowed his brow trying to make sense of it.

When was the last time he’d been in the company of someone who wasn’t trying to coerce him into doing something he didn’t want to do or use him in some way? He knew his family cared about him, but he’d grown up always questioning his place in the scheme of things. Regardless of his achievements, he lived under a cloud of uncertainty. The Capitol made sure of that. He had long forgotten what it was like to feel safe.

Peeta recalled how, as she dangled over that ledge at the waterfall, the girl had looked at him with pure hatred in her eyes. There was something ironically reassuring about that. Maybe it came from knowing exactly where he stood with her. Sure, the girl had tried to attack him after he dragged her from the river, but that was self-defense on her part. He could hardly blame her for that.

And yet, she was the Mockingjay.

The more time he spent with the girl, the harder it was to ignore the voices of doubt in his head. Something didn’t add up. He needed to figure things out, to understand the ramifications of handing her over to the Capitol...

 _If_ he handed her over.

Peeta frowned. He was allowing himself to see her as a person, which meant it was becoming difficult not to have misgivings about this mission. When he looked at the girl now, he didn’t see the Mockingjay— the instigator of Rye’s violent death. Nor did he see the Outlier of his dark childhood imaginations. All he saw was a teenage girl— a beautiful and compelling teenage girl. One who awoke in him some uncomfortable emotions.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. Being here together like this was getting to him. Given the change in the girl’s demeanor, maybe it was getting to her, too.

He sat down in one of the chairs, tilted it back against the wall, and propped his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles. He cradled the rifle across his lap and watched the girl as she poured the last of the soup into their bowls. She carried their meal to the table but stopped and scowled at him, her eyes darting between his feet and his face. Peeta couldn’t help think of his agent Effie, and how she constantly chided him about his manners.

 _'You must set an example, Peeta. You’re an ambassador of the Cap-i-tol…’_ It was mildly amusing how she always said it that way, _‘…not some neanderthal from the outer districts.’_

He figured Effie would like the girl, though. He removed his feet with a murmured apology so the girl could set the bowls down. They ate in silence. When they were finished, he decided to try and break the ice dam between them. She was weaving the blue ribbon though her fingers, gazing at the fire, when he finally spoke.

“So... you hunt with a bow. That’s pretty impressive.”

She stared at him, probably trying to gauge his intention, before answering. “Not impressive enough to avoid becoming your prisoner,” she retorted.

“You were distracted,” he replied. He wished he knew the story behind that ribbon. “They dropped me off beside a drone you shot out of the sky. I’d say that qualifies as fairly awesome.” He gave her one of his winning smiles.

She sneered at him. After the decent day they’d had so far, it felt like a slap in the face.

“Stop acting like we’re friends,” she snapped. “All you Capitol people are monsters. You create abominations of nature in your labs that slaughter or scare away all the game so we have little to eat—”

 _So that’s why there are so few large animals around,_ Peeta realized.

“—that attack us, too,” she added with particular venom. “We tried to stay out of your war, but your soldiers burned our homes, murdered my people.”

Peeta bristled at her verbal attack. “Hey, I risked my life to save you when I could have let you drown or freeze to death,” he shot back. As soon as he said it, he winced, knowing her comeback before she could even say it.

“So what! The only reason you did it was to take me prisoner so you can hand me over to be… what? Not _killed_. Nothing that easy,” she hissed. “I wish you’d left me in that river.”

Peeta dropped his eyes. His shame wouldn’t allow him to meet her condemning glare.

“We’re not all monsters,” he whispered. He thought about his nightmares, of the fear he and his family lived under but never dared speak of. “I understand a little about what it’s like.”

“How could you possibly understand?” she mocked.

He sighed. “Never mind. I know it’s not the same.”

They sat in awkward silence for a time, the only sound the low moaning of the blizzard as the winds whipped through the trees. A chill invaded the cabin, not through small cracks in the walls, but from the justified distrust emanating from the girl. Peeta shivered and hugged his arms around his chest. He hated himself in that moment. Hated his need to earn his family’s approval. Hated the way his dedication to winning in the Games had been twisted into another way to use him.

He hated that the tiny bit of warmth that had sparked between him and the girl had been an illusion. But who was he kidding? They were two people on the opposite sides of a war.

_Friends? Yeah, right._

The girl knew better. And yet, he couldn’t help wanting to find some common ground. At least it would make the next few days more bearable if they were going to be stranded here together in this shitty little cabin.

Peeta leaned forward. “Neither of us wants to be here, but for now there’s nothing we can do about it except try to make the best of it. Your people destroyed my closest rendezvous point. Who knows if any of the other outposts are still standing? So there’s just as good a chance the rebels will find us before I can make contact with Capitol soldiers. I’m just as much at risk as you are. Not to mention the rebels would kill me without hesitation.”

The girl still had the traces of a scowl on her face, but at least her eyes weren’t shooting daggers at him anymore. Instead, she looked on without saying a word. He took that as a cue to continue.

“And now this blizzard— and all the snow it’s brought— is going to make reaching our people— or them finding us— next to impossible for the foreseeable future. If we help each other, we improve the chances of at least one of us surviving after this thing is over.”

She gave a huff. “I don’t need you to survive. I’ve lived through worse storms than this.”

But the tension in her shoulders diminished, and her expression softened a bit.

Peeta pressed on, determined. “That’s true, although I’m the one with the gun, and you’re weaponless without any arrows. The forest is still crawling with mutts. Not to mention, if we combine your knowledge of hunting in these woods with my aptitude with the rifle, maybe we can keep from going hungry.”

That seemed to capture her attention.

Encouraged, he asked, “Can we start over?”

She remained impassive, wary of his intentions.

He extended a hand across the table and said, “Hi, my name’s Peeta Mellark.”

He gave her a small smile, this one lacking the Capitol polish. She stared at his hand for a second, deliberating, before reaching over to give it a quick shake. He quirked his eyebrows when she remained mute.

“You know, usually the polite thing to do when someone introduces themselves is to do the same.”

Flickering orange flames reflected in her gray eyes from the fire as she scrutinized him. She seemed contemplative but noncommittal.  He set the rifle down on the table, pushing it away from both of them, and folded his hands in front of him.

“If I knew your name, it would make things easier.”

The words had just left his mouth when a warning bell rang in his mind. Because he knew he was crossing a line from which it would be much tougher to retreat later on. But he shoved down the thought. He needed to deal with present obstacles for now.

“Katniss. My name is Katniss,” she said. “Katniss Everdeen.”

Peeta smiled again, but then he grew wistful. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Katniss.” He swallowed, looking into her eyes with regret. “I’m not even a soldier. I’m just an athlete who won a medal in a sporting event that the Capitol decided made me the best candidate to track you down. I really didn’t want to do this.”

Thin lines formed between her eyes. It seemed as if that piece of news was a surprise to her. Peeta hoped it changed her opinion of him, even if just a tiny bit.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Seeing as how we’re stuck with each other for the time being, I propose… an alliance.”

She frowned, dubious of the idea.

“We designate this cabin and the immediate area neutral territory…” He risked a smirk. Effie always claimed he was most adorable when he flashed his dimples. “And we promise to not kill the other in their sleep.”

When the corner of Katniss’s mouth twitched up, he couldn’t resist grinning. Maybe Effie was right. But Katniss immediately pasted the stoic expression back on her face. Nodding, she rose from the table and went to rinse out the bowls.

Katniss may not be so easily manipulated as other people he’d encountered, but Peeta was satisfied with this significant achievement. He went to collect more snow to melt, taking the rifle with him. As he looked at it in his hands, he came to a decision.

Once the door was barred, he stood in front of Katniss so she could see him remove the magazine of stun darts along with the one in the chamber from the rifle. He reached into his parka pocket and took out the second magazine with the regular ammunition, placing both in full view on top of the cupboard.

Next, he opened the hatch to the cellar and leaned the rifle against the stairs. He remembered the ax and placed it beside the gun. The noisy hinges creaked as he closed the hatch. It would be difficult for either of them to arm themselves without the other knowing. He debated what to do with the knife but decided to keep it with him. It seemed fair because, despite his joke moments earlier, he was the one at greater risk of having his throat cut.

That night, when he undressed and spread the blanket over himself to sleep, Katniss stood for a moment at the side of the bed with her two blankets. Peeta shuffled over to make room, and when she undressed down to her patched, woolen long-underwear and lay down beside him, he couldn’t suppress a tiny, satisfied grin.

The storm continued to rage outside all the next day, but it was toasty inside the cabin. They were both hungry and restless, so, to distract themselves, Peeta tried to engage Katniss in conversation. The boredom must have been irritating her, too, since she was willing to play along. He mentioned it was too bad she didn’t have any arrows, given how talented he knew she was with the bow. They would’ve come in handy once the storm blew itself out and they could hunt. This time she accepted the compliment.

“Are you any good with that rifle?” she asked.

 _That’s right,_ he thought. Other than shooting her almost point-blank with the stun dart, she had no idea how skilled he was.

“I grew up around hunting. My family owns a lodge in the mountains outside the Capitol that specializes in it.” He leaned close and flashed a grin. “According to sports experts, I may be the best sharpshooter in all of Panem.” Katniss rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. “Yeah, what do they know, right? But, lucky for us, I am very good. If you can find me something edible to shoot, that is.”

The topic of food was of paramount interest. When he expressed concern about the lack of game due to the mutts, she said it made it more challenging, but there were other things to eat— small animals such as squirrels, and shellfish in the streams. Even though it was winter, they could find plants and roots to augment their supplies once the storm passed.

When Peeta said he admired her outdoor survival skills, she looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re a hunter. How can you not know these things?”

“At the lodge we did trophy hunting, mostly. We never needed to do it to survive.”

Katniss wrinkled up her nose in disapproval.

“Yeah,” Peeta added. “I guess that’s why I never embraced it the way some others did.”

He reflected on his inadequacy compared to his father or Rye when it came to the family business and how he’d pursued the Venator Biathlon as a way to make up for his deficiencies.

“It must seem wasteful to you to hunt just so you can mount a rack of antlers on a wall or preserve an animal for display. Anyway, I was a guide. Our guests were the ones who were mainly doing the hunting.”

It struck him as he said it that, in the time since he’d won his medal, his fame had made him feel like some kind of a trophy, too. As much as he struggled with his natural disinclination for hunting animals, it was while experiencing that regretful ache— seeing them die at his hands— when he was most acutely reminded of his humanity.

The Games had fostered the opposite, allowing him to dehumanize his fellow competitors because the consequence of shooting someone wasn’t real. And yet the process and the skills required for both were pretty much the same in execution.

That night Peeta lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. He glanced at Katniss, asleep with her back to him. His mind was occupied, ruminating about his life. When he eventually drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with troubling images of trophies and killing and death.

In the middle of the night, Peeta was disturbed in his sleep by an almost imperceptible change in the air surrounding him. It made the fine hairs covering his skin stand up like minute antennae, as if they could detect a shift in the environment.

At first he thought he was descending into a nightmare because the sensation was so reminiscent of when an unseen predator was near. His heart began to race, knowing that at any moment it would attack with its razor claws and angry, red eyes. But everything was wrong. There were no claws or fangs. There was only the certainty that he wasn’t alone in the darkness. He felt it again, a faint rush of warm air against his skin that confirmed his fears. In the misty zone between dreams and wakefulness, he reached for his rifle and panicked because it was nowhere to be found.

Peeta awoke with a start, heart pounding, paralyzed with terror. It took a second for him to realize he wasn’t trapped inside a nightmare. But the sensation was very real. He turned his head and saw that Katniss was fast asleep, lying on her side facing him, and his heart began to grow calm.

Her arms and knees were drawn up to her chest, her hands balled into fists under her chin. She was curled so tightly into herself that she looked defenseless— like a tiny, hibernating animal. She bore no resemblance to the beasts haunting his nightmares.

Then Peeta noticed the infinitesimal space between them. So close that the puff of her breath against his neck had invaded his dreams. Katniss let out a slightly ragged sigh and shivered. The fire was still flickering in the stove, and, though it had grown colder, it wouldn’t need attention for a couple more hours.

He lifted his head a little and saw that when she had rolled toward him— perhaps seeking warmth— her blankets had become untucked, exposing her back to the night air. He lifted himself up on an elbow and, reaching over, tugged the blankets back around her body. Just as he was tucking them under her hip, her eyes opened, heavy-lidded with sleep, but as alert and clear as a cat.

Motionless, they gazed at each other for a moment, her gray eyes scrutinizing, watching, waiting. Then she blinked, and Peeta released the breath he was holding. He finished tucking the blankets around the top of her shoulders and, without further contact, lay down on his back and closed his eyes. Something about the encounter sent a tingling current through him, causing him to shiver. He snugged his single blanket a little tighter around his body.

When he felt Katniss stir, he observed her furtively, veiled through his eyelashes as she untucked one of her two blankets, reached across him, and spread it over both of them to share. She lay back down, her arm rejoining its partner folded against her chest. But out of the corner of his eye he could tell she was still watching him.

A brief flicker of fear sparked inside Peeta under the weight of her gaze. He gave another sigh and fully-closed his eyes, reminding himself it was no big deal. She’d been cold, he’d wanted her to be comfortable, and she’d responded in kind. What would happen tomorrow, didn’t matter. Tonight they would survive, warm in the safe pocket of their fragile truce as the storm howled outside their door.

When Peeta awoke in the morning he sprang up from the bed, trying to figure out what was different. Everything was too quiet. The windows were partially obscured by snow, but an uncharacteristic brightness slipped in through the small gaps at the top of the panes. The storm had passed.

Roused by his sudden movement, Katniss rubbed her eyes and sat up. Her eyes flashed with excitement.

“Today we hunt,” she said, leaping from the bed and throwing on her clothes.

Hazy clouds diffused the sunlight and hid the sky, but they were so thin that the snow was almost blinding outside the shadow of the trees. As capable as he was at hunting, Peeta watched Katniss with a degree of awe as they made their way through the forest. He was used to tracking larger game on the ground, but her eyes never left the trees. The snow slowed them down, but it didn’t matter because they had only gone a short distance before she held up a hand to signal for him to stop. She pointed high into an evergreen, and he squinted his eyes to see what had caught her attention.

A flash of silvery-gray fur prompted him to raise the rifle, click off the safety, and take aim. The squirrel fell to the ground, and Katniss plowed through the snow to retrieve it. It looked so small to Peeta, but she held it up and waved it triumphantly.

The corner of her mouth curled up. “You weren’t lying. You are pretty good."

A pleasant rush of pride colored Peeta’s face. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, given all the meaningless flattery he’d received over the past couple of years, but earning Katniss’s admiration was important to him.

She held out her hand, palm up. Peeta shook his head, unsure what she meant. Some kind of Outlier hunting ritual?

“The knife,” she demanded, and gave her hand an insistent shake.

Peeta hesitated. But when she made an impatient huff, he removed it from the sheath and handed it over. She gave him a withering look out of the corner of her eye and went to work gutting the animal.

 _Oh, yeah_ , Peeta thought sheepishly.

When she was done she dropped the squirrel into the canvas bag she’d brought from the cabin. They regarded each other for a moment, but then she handed the knife back without comment. The gesture touched him.

Katniss stopped at a grove of young pine trees, and, when she held out her hand for the knife, this time Peeta handed it over without hesitation. She pried away the bark of a tree and then, using the blade, scraped away the soft inner layer and handed him a piece. He held it in his hand, uncertain what to do with it. She cut another piece for herself and began to chew on it. He followed her lead. It tasted a bit like resin, but it wasn’t terrible, especially given how hungry he was.

Katniss explained that the evergreen needles would make a very nutritious tea. As she snapped off clusters to add to the forage bag, powdery snow became dislodged from branches above and showered down over them. Peeta couldn't resist brushing it from her braid, and she recoiled from his touch. It was a reminder that some distrust still stood between them. But she recovered, gave a little smirk, and brushed the remaining snow from her shoulders.

 _Baby steps,_ Peeta reminded himself. This alliance was only a couple days old, after all.

They got another squirrel as they retraced their steps through the heavy snow back to the cabin. Then the sky opened up, and they were teased with a tiny glimpse of blue sky, vivid in a world of gray. Though it only lasted for a moment before the clouds closed in again, it was such a welcome sight that Peeta smiled in appreciation. He turned to Katniss and discovered that she was looking at him with a trace of a smile on her face, too. Her eyes darted away when she realized he’d caught her. Her face became wistful, and her eyes grew unfocused. He wondered if seeing the sky had reminded her of that blue ribbon she kept in her pocket.

They’d walked for a couple minutes when they reached a small break in the trees. Katniss stopped and turned to him.

“You’re not a soldier,” she confirmed.

Hearing her voice shook him from his musings. “No, just an athlete and a hunting guide.”

She screwed up her face in deep thought. “I guess it makes sense,” she said after a moment.

“The Capitol soldiers and the rebels in this district don’t know the first thing about how to track. And they definitely would have a tough time sneaking up and capturing an Outlier.”

He grimaced at this reminder of his mission, but she carried on without any hint of blame. Instead, there was curiosity in her voice.

“You said you were good at a sport, too?”

It was an invitation to talk, and though he would have preferred to learn more about her than talk about his past, he was happy to keep the dialogue open.

“I was a competitive athlete in an event that involved skiing and target shooting.” He decided to leave out the part about shooting at people. “I won top place in the Winter Games that had competitors from all over Panem. It was a pretty big deal to a lot of people and a huge boost for my family’s lodge to have a Games champion as a guide. But it also meant I had to spend a lot of time traveling around the country, making appearances to promote my sponsors. They were the businesses who provided me with top quality equipment and access to the best trainers.”

“So, I guess you’re kind of famous.”

“Yeah,” he replied without enthusiasm.

A chill passed through Peeta as he recalled the day, a few months after the Games, when Rye had called him into the living room, saying they were talking about him on the television. It was a cheesy talk show specializing in gossip and the tawdry life of celebrities. All the color drained from his face and his stomach dropped when he saw someone with whom he was well acquainted— her flawless smile, perfectly-styled blond hair, and shapely figure in a revealing, red dress.

Out of an endless stream of fawning fans from which he’d tried to maintain a safe distance, the young woman from District 1 had stood out. She worked for a fashion designer who had created the uniforms for the Games. At first she ignored him at the post-Games celebration function when they were introduced. It was a refreshing change from the typical response he received. Later, she was coolly polite, but, as the hours passed, she rewarded him with her undivided attention. She was a few years older than him, spoke intelligently about a variety of topics, and even laughed at his lame jokes in a way that was flattering. Perhaps it was the champagne, but the conversation got easier as the night went on.

At the end of the evening, he ventured to ask if he could see her again, and for a moment she hesitated. But then she gave him a flirtatious smile and claimed that she wasn’t sure it was in his best interests.

When he asked why, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, “It might interfere with your image as the hot, _unattached_ star your agent and sponsors would prefer to promote.”

He groaned and insisted that he’d appreciate having a friend who didn’t see him like a meal to be consumed. She’d laughed and given him her number. It made him proud that a sophisticated, beautiful woman like her would desire his company. They found ways to meet up in clandestine locations where he wouldn’t be recognized. Little hole-in-the-wall restaurants or discreet clubs.

But he was only eighteen at the time, and naive. When he showed up in her district while touring, she invited him to her place for a private dinner. And then, coyly biting her lip, she suggested he should stay the night. It had been his first time, and he was in love. Or at least what he thought was love back then. Peeta returned home to the Capitol with his head in the clouds and her promises that she’d see him again soon when she could get away from her job in D1.

But then he saw her on the television screen, and it all came crashing down in the most humiliating way possible. All the lurid details of their ‘love affair’ were revealed, complete with photos he had no idea had been taken— in the most intimate of conditions.

Rye had whooped at the whole thing and slapped him on the back, but all Peeta wanted to do was escape into the mountains and never come back. It made him sick to his stomach.

The phone rang before the end of the exposé, as the host congratulated his guest for her exciting new job as the host of her own lifestyle and fashion program, examining, _‘What’s hot in the Capitol!’_  It was no mystery how she’d gotten that plum position.

It was Effie on the phone, of course, responding to the news. She tried to reassure him that, while it was not the height of decorum, she was certain it would not damage his career in the public eye.

 _‘You just leave it in my capable hands, sweetie,’_ she’d chirped. _‘Nothing but the best for my victor!’_

He’d hung up on her.

_Yeah, sure. No harm done._

Effie was right. It hadn’t hurt his image at all. It had actually elevated his popularity, feeding the public’s fascination with him. But it had marked the beginning of his troubled relationship with fame.

A voice, faint and melodic, called out to him. Peeta was startled back to the present to see Katniss regarding him with a puzzled expression on her face.

He heaved a sigh that deflated all his earlier joy, leaving a hollow regret in its place.

“Katniss, it wasn’t just for my sharpshooting and hunting skills that the Capitol chose me. It’s because I’m well known. They needed someone famous to do the job.” She furrowed her brow. “Because of how infamous you are throughout Panem,” he explained.

“What are you talking about?” she replied.

He was taken aback. “Because you’re the Mockingjay,” he answered.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Mockingjay? You mean that half-mutt bird that showed up last spring? What’s that got to do with me?”

Peeta screwed up his face in confusion. She didn’t know?

“The way the D13 rebels are portraying you throughout the country. Videos and photos of your attacks on Capitol outposts, the destruction of their drones… the killing.” He paused to read her reaction. “The rebels have been sending out images of you all over the airwaves to incite people to rise up against the government. To fight back. Blow up power plants and factories.” His throat constricted. “Encourage suicide bombers to destroy hospitals and shopping areas filled with Capitol sympathizers.”

Her eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief. “All I’ve done is try to stay alive, and protect the people I care about,” she insisted. She lifted her chin, the defiant girl from the photo once again. “The things I’ve done, I did them because of what the Capitol did to us,” she asserted, but then she took a step back and shook her head. “I’ve only helped the rebels in this district because they promised to leave my people in peace when this war is over. But I never… I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off.

Peeta thought of Rye and how his death had been attributed to Katniss. He’d been deceived. But so had Katniss. Were the other Outliers aware of the rebel propaganda? He thought about Abernathy. Was it possible the commander didn’t know the truth about the Mockingjay either?

However, one thing was becoming clear. They were both being used. But it was worse for Katniss. She was the one being used without her knowledge or permission.

He glanced up at the sky. High altitude winds stretched the gauzy clouds to the breaking point and, for the first time in ages, Peeta felt the sun on his skin. He closed his eyes under its radiant heat, feeling a different heat inside his chest growing in concert with it.  

Maybe it didn’t change the potentially devastating effect of the Mockingjay on Panem or the war between the Capitol and the rebels.

But one thing he did know— Katniss wasn’t his enemy.

Out of this new revelation a strange bit of elation seeped into his heart. He smiled and scanned the forest. Everything looked transformed. It was probably the sunlight filtering through the trees, but Peeta knew he was looking at it all with fresh eyes. Hopeful eyes. But his smile vanished when his gaze fell on Katniss— her face downcast, staring at the ground.

Wanting to comfort her in some way, Peeta was about to touch her arm when the hair on the back of his neck stood up, even though the air was calm. His eyes were drawn over her shoulder, to a spot where the trees behind her seemed to shimmer. For a fraction of a second he wondered if the sunlight on the snow was playing tricks on him, when he saw the eyes— glowing red, like they did in his nightmares. His body teased, the years of training kicking in as he swung his rifle around and raised it in his hands.

“Mutt!” he screamed, and Katniss spun around, her eyes wide in terror as she reached for an arrow that wasn’t there.

The giant bear charged out from the trees, roaring in ferocious rage, its mottled fur turning all white as it entered the open space between them. Peeta took a breath, aimed, and fired the rifle just as it was leaping, its four-inch claws reaching for Katniss. The mutt fell to the ground as the bullet hit it square in the brain, pinning Katniss’s legs under its bulk. Peeta frantically scanned for any more, turning in a circle, hyperventilating, and standing over Katniss as she squirmed free from under the dead beast.

Satisfied the mutt was alone, Peeta lowered his rifle and checked to see if Katniss was okay. She scrambled to her feet and they stood staring at each other. The forest grew still, with only the sound of their panting breath and rapid heartbeats disturbing the silence.


	5. The Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing new facts are revealed, Peeta and Katniss grow closer, and they are awed by an unexpected change in the weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three of the most patient and thorough Betas in the universe!! There are no adequate words to express how much I appreciate your hard work on my behalf papofglencoe, finduilasnumenesse and titaniasfics— Thank you so very much!! <3!

**Chapter 5 - The Thaw**

They stood in stunned silence beside the dead bear, struggling to catch their breath. With the crisis behind them, Peeta was able to focus. He asked Katniss if they should take some of the bear’s meat.

She sneered at the mutt, her voice filled with disgust. “I’d rather starve.”

He had to agree. Who knew if it was even safe to eat? But it didn’t stop Katniss from taking hold of the knife and slitting the mutt’s throat in outrage. They left the carcass where it lay, concealed under a pile of fir boughs, in an ever-expanding circle of red-stained snow.

When they got back to the cabin, Peeta went to remove the magazine from his rifle, as per their arrangement, but Katniss grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“No,” she ordered, her eyes wide with anxiety. “In case there are more of them out there.”

Peeta was startled by this progression in their relationship, but he was grateful she insisted on keeping the rifle loaded. He kept the gun in his hands, watching out the window for any sign that mutts might have followed them back to the cabin, while Katniss cooked the squirrels.

They devoured their modest meal by candlelight. Though they were both ravenous after going for more than a day without food, Katniss was subdued during the meal. Peeta wondered what disturbed her most, the news that the rebels were using her to foment violence throughout Panem or the terrifying encounter with the mutt-bear. It was probably both, he figured.

He realized something else that was likely weighing on Katniss— the world of people she thought were on her side had just gotten smaller.

Peeta straightened his shoulders with new resolve. No, she had one to add to that list. He touched her arm, and she looked up, her face dispirited.

“I’m not turning you over to the Capitol, Katniss. I promise.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and regarded him with piercing eyes.

“Why?” she asked in a small voice. “Why would you do that for me?”

_Why would I do that?_

Peeta knew it was more than learning the truth about Katniss and her unwitting role as the Mockingjay. But he was struggling to put a name to the emotions at the heart of it, so he said, “You know why."

She frowned, not satisfied with his ambiguous answer.

He met her searching gaze with a resolute one that he hoped conveyed his commitment. “Because I’m your ally now.”

 _Ally._ It was a safe word. One that they could both accept.

Lines formed between her eyes as she considered the reliability of his promise.

 _And I’m done with cowering in fear from the Capitol,_ he silently declared. Perhaps she read his mind, because she nodded and gave him a small smile.

With the squirrel bones picked clean, they sat, lost in thought, drinking the pine needle tea. Peeta’s stomach was far from satisfied, and Katniss swallowed and licked her lips from lingering hunger, too. She began to weave the blue ribbon around her fingers, as he noticed she often did during quiet moments.

By the time evening was well advanced, the adrenaline from the day had disappeared. But they were both restless that night. Katniss tossed about in the bed, and sleep eluded Peeta. He got up to replenish the wood in the stove and went to look out the window, searching the inky blackness outside. Were there more mutts waiting in the trees? He checked the door for the third time to reassure himself it was safely barred.

Even though he knew it was still loaded, he inspected his rifle. Placing it within easy reach, he crawled back into bed beside Katniss and pulled the blankets up over himself. It was warm in the cabin, but the thought of mutts lurking outside the door sent a shiver down his spine.

When they’d gone to bed that night, Katniss had unfolded all three blankets and spread them over the bed for both of them to share. Under different circumstances, Peeta would have been delighted that she wanted him close beside her while she slept. And he _was_ pleased about it. But it was like her insistence on keeping the rifle loaded— he suspected it was motivated from something other than emerging feelings of trust and partnership.

Instead of finding her new acceptance of him encouraging, Peeta was disturbed to see such a brave girl so transformed by fear. The bear, the news about the rebels— something about the events of today had triggered her distress. The Mockingjay may be a mutt, but lying beside him was a badly frightened girl. What had happened to her?

He shut his eyes and tried to sleep. Katniss murmured in her sleep, likely from some kind of bad dream. _Trapped in the land of nightmares._ He knew it well.

Peeta’s eyes were opened by a realization. It dawned on him that he hadn’t experienced his old nightmare with the grizzly bear since he’d arrived in the Arena. He was pondering this mystery when he grasped the significance of what he’d done today. He saw the bear-mutt, with its camouflage fur and malicious intentions, falling to the ground as his bullet hit its mark.

“I got you, you bastard,” he whispered into the dark, and the earlier chill vanished as a satisfying heat flooded his bloodstream. He’d beaten his nightmare. He doubted that bear would be visiting his dreams again. But he knew the red eyes would still be there waiting to torment him.

 _Well, it’s an improvement, at least,_ he assured himself.

Katniss began to whimper, and then she cried out in her sleep, “No! Run, Prim!”

The anguish in her voice moved Peeta to touch her arm, rubbing his hand up and down in a soothing gesture. Her eyes flew open, but instead of withdrawing, she closed the distance between them, her arms clinging to his body. After a moment of surprise, he gathered her tightly in a hug and whispered reassuring words to calm her as she melted into his embrace.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, just rest now,” he said, over and over. Peeta wondered who Prim was and what had happened to her. He would ask Katniss about it. But not tonight. Right now she needed him to keep the nightmares away.

He’d saved their lives today. Nothing in his life could compare to that accomplishment. There had been was nothing forced about it. It hadn’t been motivated by a pitiful need to measure up or to win. It wasn’t out of self-preservation, either. He’d done it, had done it _well,_ without hesitation. All because the thought of Katniss being hurt, or dying and leaving him alone again, was unacceptable. He did it because he wanted to protect her. It had been instinctive.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and gave a shuddering sigh. It felt so good to have someone holding him. After years of keeping people at a safe distance— not wanting to be pawed by greedy hands— feeling Katniss’s warm body relaxing in his arms was soothing for him, too. He hadn’t realized until now the degree of his loneliness.

_Katniss needs me._

Peeta basked in the notion. Because, for the first time in his life, he understood what is was like to be valued. Not for what someone could take from him, but for what he could freely give. And he felt something else, too— he searched for the word. He couldn’t stop himself from laying a soft kiss on the top of Katniss’s head when it came to him.

_Empowered._

He’d defeated the bear. He’d taken a stand against the Capitol with his decision to defy his orders and reject the mission. Katniss had chosen to place her trust in him. After a life lived in fear of failure, Peeta felt empowered.

The next morning they awoke to the inevitable task. Hunger drove them to venture out again, although this time they were especially vigilant— watching all directions, their backs to each other as they went. Peeta kept his rifle in hand while Katniss carried the hunting knife. The clouds had returned, dulling shadows and definition. It made them uneasy as they scanned the forest, alert for any animal tracks or odd visual distortions in the trees.

When they reached a small stream, Peeta used the butt end of his rifle to break the ice along the shoreline where Katniss pointed. She dropped to her hands and knees, stripped off her mittens, and began to feel around in the freezing water. She brought up several handfuls of dark brown freshwater mussels, which he deposited into the forage bag.

They followed the stream until it widened into a pond in a brighter area with few large trees. From the pond, they gathered a large quantity of watercress, some of which they ate right away to stave off their hunger. Katniss was able to pry free a few cattail roots from the shallow shoreline with a stick. The others were too frozen to dislodge. She explained that, also hidden in the frozen mud, there were katniss tubers, but they were too deeply buried to dislodge. When Peeta quirked his eyebrows and smiled, Katniss smiled back. Given how wired they’d been all day, it was a welcome respite from the tension.

“That’s the dried root that we ate at the cabin. I was named after them,” she said.

Peeta nodded, now understanding what she had meant. It was an interesting notion that finding yourself could save your life. Discovering the truth about the Mockingjay… had he helped Katniss to find herself in some way? Hadn’t she done the same for him, too?

They gathered more pine and some frozen cranberries, rosehips and wild plums. On their way back to the cabin Katniss spotted a squirrel. Peeta’s bullet hit its mark, and they added it to the bag. Even though the sun was still high in the sky, cutting a trail through the deep snow and being on constant alert sapped their energy. It was with relief that they returned to the safety of the cabin.

That afternoon, between hungry mouthfuls of the meal they made from their foraging, Peeta decided it was time to find out about Prim and the story behind the blue ribbon. He’d started the mission disturbed by his inability to read his quarry. But it wasn’t necessary to agonize over the mystery anymore, attempting to gain the advantage. Katniss was his ally now, and all he had to do was ask.

“Katniss, where is your family?” He kept his voice low and gentle.

She stared at her plate. “They’re all gone,” she whispered.

“What happened to them?”

Katniss sucked in a deep breath, taking a moment before she answered. “It all started soon after the rebellion began. My father and I, and a few others, were hunting. We didn’t know about the mutts yet, but we knew something was driving game away. We figured they must be spooked by the fighting.”

“You weren’t involved with the rebels yet?” Peeta asked.

She frowned and gave a quick shake of her head. “No. At first we avoided them all. But when we saw a hovercraft shot down near us, we figured it might have something of value. We found a rebel pilot still alive, but badly injured. The rest of his crew had been killed in the crash. My father’s cousin and his son wanted to leave him and just take any useful supplies, but my father refused.”

Peeta reached for a steamed mussel, split open the shell, and popped the flesh into his mouth while Katniss continued.

“The pilot begged us to help him, saying that his people had huge stores of food and other goods that they would share if we allied with them to fight off the invaders. We took him to our home, and my mother tended his injuries. We got him back to his base, the city where they have the underground fortress, and that’s when their leader made us a promise. He said that they needed our expertise. If we could convince the other Outliers to help provide it, not only would they give us supplies in trade, they would guarantee to recognize our right to live in their district without interference.”

She reached for one of the roasted squirrel legs. “We’ve mostly lived without interest in contact, so their guarantees meant little to us. But we agreed to share the rebels’ offer with other Outliers. What convinced some of our people was that the rebels were willing to provide information about the locations of Capitol outposts. They could detect when the hovercrafts dropped them supplies, even in the dark. They said anything we found, we could keep. All they cared about was capturing any technology or intercepting important intelligence.”

“Wait, you said the other Outliers. Your family didn’t agree to the deal?”

She swallowed her mouthful of meat and scowled. “No, not at first. The rebels wanted my father to join them. They argued that anything to impede the advance of the Capitol troops would benefit all of us in the district. But my father and a few other families didn’t want any part of it.

“But some families agreed. The people who own this cabin— they got this woodstove and other stuff because they joined the rebels.” She frowned. “They barely got to use it before they abandoned it all, scared for their safety. The Capitol soldiers moved farther into our territory, attacking Outlier homes,” she explained.

“Because my mother was a healer, they’d bring the wounded to us, not just other Outliers, but some of the rebels, too. It didn’t matter who was involved— or not anymore. As far as the Capitol was concerned, all of us were fair game. Things were getting more desperate, food was growing scarce, our friends and relatives were dying. My father realized he had no choice but to join the rest of the fighters.”

She paused to take a sip of rosehip tea and eat some of the watercress.

“My father was gone when the Capitol soldiers found our home. I defended my mother and sister and an injured rebel in our care.” Her jaw tightened. “Those Capitol soldiers? I killed them all.”

She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. “The rebel soldier told the leaders in D13, and they pressured my father to let me join the rebels.”

She looked up and gave him a wry smile. “I guess you’re not the only one who developed a reputation for shooting.” She turned serious again. “But my father refused to let me fight. He said if anything happened to him, my mother and Prim needed me.”

“Prim?” Peeta asked. “She was your sister?”

Katniss nodded. “Primrose.” She paused and sucked in a ragged breath. “We managed okay for a while. My father hunted with me when he could. He was reluctant to bring home supplies from raids or the rebels because he hated owing them or benefiting from the war, but sometimes he had no choice. Foraging wasn’t too bad since it was springtime— plants, bird eggs and such. Plus we had Prim’s goat for milk.

“But then, a few months ago a pack of the wolf-mutts found me. I was alone hunting while my father was repairing our cabin’s roof for winter. I got up a tree just in time. I was able to kill one of them, but the rest took off toward my home. I knew my father could protect our family and they would be safe inside our cabin, so I waited until it was clear, thinking I would sneak up on the mutts and help kill more of them from the trees.”

Her voice hitched in her throat. “But I was too late.”

Tears flooded her eyes, the flicker of the candles playing across them. “Prim… my little sister… it was always my job to look out for her… she was my closest friend, and I loved her more than anything. But she loved that stupid goat. She must have run out to try to save it, and my father went after her. I saw them outside our cabin being ripped apart by the mutts. My mother was killed, too. I guess she wasn’t able to keep the wolves outside. I found her dead, trying to escape down into our cellar.”

She took a moment to compose herself, and Peeta saw her hand slip into her pocket and pull out the ribbon. She began to wind it around her fingers, rocking back and forth in her chair. Along with anguish, her face radiated anger. Her mouth was turned down, her eyes narrow and hard.

Peeta reached across and covered her hand with his own. He touched the ribbon.

“It belonged to Prim,” Katniss explained. “She loved pretty things, tied bows around her goat’s neck, wore them in her hair.” She took a stuttering breath. “Right after I got there, the rebels showed up, and the mutts took off. That’s when they asked me to join the fight. This time I didn’t refuse. I had no reason left not to. The Capitol had destroyed what was most important to me. It didn’t matter if I lived or died. If I could help save the remnant of my people in D13, and strike back at the Capitol for what they’d done, at least my death would mean something.”

Peeta could feel Katniss grip the ribbon in her clenched hand that lay under his. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for Katniss to see her family murdered this way. His thoughts quickly twisted into an agonizing, living nightmare.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss,” he whispered.

He could think of no other words of comfort to offer. The fire blazing in the woodstove became painful to his eyes, and the crackling and popping of the burning wood grew strangely unpleasant in his ears. He closed his eyes, and images of the Everdeen family being ripped apart became overlaid with Rye’s mangled body as he lay in the midst of burning ruin.

“I lost my brother, too,” Peeta said with a hushed voice. “He was called up in the Capitol draft as a military medic and died when the hospital he was serving in was blown up by a suicide bomber.”

Her eyes locked onto his and filled with sorrow, understanding the implication. The Capitol mutts had slaughtered her family. And the mutt the rebels had made of her— the Mockingjay— had been the inspiration behind the attack that had murdered his brother.

They sat in quiet reflection for a few minutes as Katniss fought back tears, swiping them away from her eyes before they could fall.

Something about her story bothered Peeta— Katniss’s description of the mutt attack, the rebels, her finally being convinced to join them.

He closed his eyes and visualized himself back aboard the hovercraft with Abernathy’s briefing in his hands. The one he’d read with hardly enough time to digest the information, except to glean out the important facts that pertained to his safety and the mission. The mutts…

The rebels had the technology to control the mutts in this district, had used them against the Capitol troops. They had the means to protect themselves from attack. If the Outliers were so important to them, why hadn’t Katniss’s family been protected? Mr. Everdeen was already helping them. Was it simply because he wasn’t in the company of rebel fighters at the time and had no access to the blocking signal? Maybe D13’s isolation, due to the Capitol’s containment strategy, had left them with limited tech at their disposal. Perhaps.

But the timing of the rebels showing up right after her family had been killed seemed too _convenient_. Not to mention the bear that had attacked them yesterday— Katniss was their Mockingjay. Why would the rebels leave her so vulnerable?

“Katniss, do you know of any other attacks by mutts on your people? I mean, after the alliance with the rebels?”

Small lines formed between her eyes as she tried to follow his thought trail. “Maybe, but I don’t know for sure. I didn’t interact very much with any of the others once the Outliers got involved in the fight. My father tried to shield us from it.”

“And you only started to help the rebels out after your family was killed?”

She nodded. “Other than that first time— defending my family and the injured rebel at our home— I hadn’t been involved, just as my father wanted. But even after my family died, I was never really a part of the organized rebellion like the other Outliers. Other than accepting their special arrows, I acted alone, was on my own mission to strike back at the Capitol. I didn’t care about the war, I just wanted to help the rest of my people. I was so angry at first, I didn’t even want any of the Capitol’s supplies, so I burned them up.” She furrowed her brow. “Why are you asking?”

“I was told, before I was dropped here by the hovercraft, that the rebels have the ability to control the mutts. They can reprogram them using a signal so they will attack Capitol soldiers but be repelled by rebel tech. They’ve had the means to do this for a while.” He paused before giving the potentially devastating news. “From before your family was killed.”

He could see the gears turning in her head as her back stiffened. “My family could have been saved?”

He nodded. “More than that. I think it’s possible it was set up to get you to fight for them. They saw something in you— I saw it, too, in the photos I was shown. They knew you had something unique that they could use to their advantage. Not just your skill with the bow, but the person you are. All they needed was a catalyst to fire you up for their side.”

“The bear…” she whispered.

The despair over the loss of her family disappeared from her face, and her countenance grew bitter, understanding the truth that he had revealed. The rebels didn’t care if she died. They had the footage they needed of the Mockingjay. Peeta considered that it was possible that even her death was something they planned to exploit. Create the martyr that Abernathy had described— complete with images of her dead body, brutally torn apart by the Capitol-created monsters, displayed throughout Panem.

Another disturbing thought assailed Peeta, causing him to sit back in his chair and stare at the fire. If the Everdeens’ death wasn’t an accident, but rather a carefully calculated move by the rebels… What about Rye’s death? Would the Capitol engineer something so diabolical to motivate him? And if so, who knew? Abernathy had made a point of bringing it up when they met. But the commander had also seemed conflicted in his role as a Capitol officer.

With so much hidden, it was impossible to know the truth. Peeta thought about the way a blizzard could blind the eyes and obscure the land. But he was certain that, in the same way that even the most insurmountable snow eventually succumbs to the inevitable arrival of spring— revealing all that is buried beneath its white cloak— so would all the Capitol’s dark secrets be uncovered someday.

Here, in this isolated cabin, he’d experienced it on a small scale. The cold schemes meant to control and manipulate the two of them could not withstand the emerging warmth of understanding that had thawed their distrust.

But even if the whole truth was revealed, what could he and Katniss do about it? They might not be playing the game they’d been given, but they were still in the Arena. And right now it felt like all the other players were against them.

The light pouring in through the windows was growing dim, so Peeta rose from his chair and reached for his parka.

“I should go get enough wood to keep the fire going for the rest of the night before it gets too dark.”

Katniss grabbed her coat, too. “Don’t go out alone. I’ll keep watch.”

Peeta gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He picked up his gun and held it in front of him.

“Maybe it’s time you learned how to fire a rifle. If you’re going to watch my back, it would be good if you knew how.”

Her face took on that unfathomable quality he remembered from the photo. “Are you sure you trust me enough for that?” she teased, a hint of a smile curling up the corner of her mouth.

A tiny stab of insecurity caused Peeta’s heart to miss a beat.

_Can I trust her?_

He remembered the longing for affection, for a trusted friend, which had made him vulnerable to the woman from D1. Instead of using his game-winning strategy to analyze Katniss’s unreadable persona, the way he had with everyone who attempted to get close, he’d chosen to take her at her word.

Katniss raised her eyebrows, appearing perplexed by his sudden hesitation. “Peeta?”

He dismissed the doubt. After what they’d shared the last couple of days, he knew it was unjustified paranoia. Learning to trust again wasn’t easy.

After a quick lesson, Katniss held the rifle, her eyes watching the trees, while Peeta gathered the firewood. She was preparing to close the cabin door as he dumped the last armload of wood beside the stove, when he stopped her.

He gazed up at the sky that was slipping from twilight into night. “You know what day this is?”

Katniss furrowed her brow and gave a small, impatient huff, anxious to close the door. “I don’t know, I haven’t been keeping track.”

“I do,” Peeta replied and pointed at the sky. She cocked her eyebrows, waiting for further explanation. Peeta closed and barred the door, and led her over to sit with him on the end of the bed. He took one of her hands in his. “It’s the winter solstice.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “The darkest day of the year.”

“You know what that means,” he said, nudging her shoulder and squeezing her hand.

She frowned, and then the trace of a smile appeared. “It only gets brighter from here,” Katniss answered.

They went to bed early, but didn’t sleep. A breeze had picked up outside, hinting that a new storm was approaching. It was difficult to say for sure. Peeta didn’t mind. It bought them more time to figure out what they were going to do.

They lay on their backs, watching the flickering flames from the wood stove reflecting on the ceiling, both lost in their own thoughts. It was sometime around midnight when Katniss reached out and took his hand. Peeta turned his head to look at her. The bittersweet sadness in her eyes made his heart ache.

“Every winter solstice my father used to tell me and Prim a legend that his parents passed down to him. He described a place, far away, where during a part of the year the sun never sets. He told us that if things got dark and scary or if we had a nightmare in the middle of the night to remember that place.”

She rolled over and laid her head under his chin, and Peeta wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Prim asked where it was and if we could go there. Father would point out a star. He called it the Midnight Star. He said it was given that name because it pointed to the place of the midnight sun.”

Peeta quirked his eyebrows. “You mean the North Star?”

Katniss raised up on her elbow to look at his face. “I suppose. It’s the one that always points north.” The way her finger drew faint swirls across the thin material covering his chest made him a bit breathless. “He made it sound like this magical place, describing how the skies would come alive, dancing with the colors of a kind of strange fire. When I was older, I figured he meant it as some kind of afterlife or something.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Peeta closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the skies alight with a rainbow of color. “Actually, I think it might be a real place. The length of days changes depending on how far north or south you are. I noticed it when traveling around Panem.”

“It does?” Katniss asked. “I’ve spent all my life here. I never knew that. Just that it changed from summer to winter.”

“If a person could travel far enough north in the summer, maybe you could reach a spot where the sun never sets,” he mused.

“The sun at midnight,” Katniss replied wistfully. “I wish I could see it.”

Peeta swept her braid behind her shoulder, letting his hand linger on her arm. “We will. When this is all over. We’ll go. Just you and me.”

It was all a fantasy of course, an unrealistic dream. They were in the middle of a war zone, the Capitol wanting to take them alive, while the rebels would rather see them both dead, each for their own propaganda purposes. And besides, after the cataclysm, who knew what was left of the world beyond Panem’s borders? The map in his possession provided no clue. The way she searched his eyes, Peeta was sure Katniss understood the reality of their situation, too. But neither of them wanted to spoil it by saying anything. It was too precious of an idea to let go.

Instead, he was rewarded with a kiss. It was soft and warm, a bit shy but curious. It tasted so sweet and generous and filled with hope that his heart clenched in his chest. Peeta had never been kissed like that before. When she pulled away he savored it a little longer, tasting it on his lips. How close had he come to losing this?

“If that outpost hadn’t been destroyed, I would have handed you over to the Capitol.” His eyes begged for her forgiveness.

“But you didn’t,” she whispered. Her face became contorted with an anguish of her own. She ran a hand down the side of his face. “That day at the waterfall. If I hadn’t been thinking about Prim, I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Peeta answered, echoing her words.

He hugged her to his chest, and she settled down, accepting the comfort of his arms. “It’s okay, Katniss. None of that matters anymore.”

They managed to fall asleep after that, but somewhere during the night, Peeta thought he heard the gentle cadence of rain reverberating on the roof. He told himself he must be imagining it. Nestling his face against Katniss’s hair, he returned to sleep. He dreamed of warm summer rain-showers and days without nights.

Katniss was the first to wake the next morning. When she rolled over and stretched, Peeta groaned in protest. It was so peaceful lying there together, he was reluctant to rise and leave the cozy warmth of the blankets he shared with Katniss. She sat up and gasped. He instinctively reached for the rifle, but he was stopped by her hand on his arm.

“What is it?” he asked, now fully awake and alert.

She pointed to one of the windows and slipped out of bed. The glass was obscured by ice, distorting the view to the outside world. But what made Peeta’s eyes grow wide was how the morning sunlight was refracted as it passed through the ripples and waves.

He crawled out of bed and joined Katniss where she was unbarring the door to look outside. The door was stuck and took a little coaxing to break free, but when it opened they were met with a wondrous sight.

The world was encased in a crystalline coating. Every tree branch, twig, and needle. The wood pile and the cabin. There was a layer of ice over the snow, too, glittering like tiny mirrors. Any trace of the dull, gray sky was gone. Instead, it was all brilliant blue. The sun shone freely down on every surface, causing rainbow prisms and starbursts of dazzling light to sparkle all around them.

Peeta had never seen such a beautiful sight, and he stood speechless before it. There was no room for anything as ugly as mutts or war in this place.

What strange force had made it possible for rainwater to form when everything was still too cold, so that it could freeze into this work of art? Maybe Abernathy was onto something. Storms, whether of war or nature, had a way of reordering the predictable way of things.

“It’s a silver thaw,” Katniss whispered.

“What caused it?” he asked in a hushed voice. He’d never heard of such a phenomena.

“It happens when the air warms up enough that any snow falling from the sky turns into rain before it reaches the earth. But everything on the ground is still frosty, so it freezes into ice, layer upon layer, on everything it touches. It happens every now and then around here.”

Peeta watched as his exhaled breath was transformed into minuscule ice crystals as it left his lungs. He could feel the crispness of the clear morning air on his exposed skin. He lifted his face to gaze at the cloudless atmosphere and wondered how a warm current of air could exist up there, strong enough to melt the frozen sky.

A sudden breeze swirled around the trees, causing the sunlight to flicker through the ice coating the swaying branches. It dipped across the snow and whipped around them, but, even though Peeta knew it must be bitterly cold, he felt none of its chill.

Katniss drew close and slipped her arm through his. Every place that her body aligned with his, from their shoulders and down their arms, where her breast pressed into the side of his body, and at the point her hip touched his, there was warmth. They were impervious to the icy world surrounding them within their own protected nook.

She turned to him, and, in the full spectrum of sunlight, Peeta was captivated by the true nature of Katniss’s eyes. It wasn’t the cool, misty shades of a sun-veiled snowscape. Nor was it the fiery colors reflected from the stove or candlelight playing a trick on the eye. In the pure light of the sun, he could see the color was much more complex. Layers of striations, a vibrant array, like the silver thaw.

“It’s breathtaking,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss nodded. “It is.” But she gave a deep sigh and frowned. “But it’s also a problem.”

Peeta frowned. “Why?”

“Despite how it looks, a thaw like this can do a lot of damage and make things difficult.” Katniss reached for her boots and slipped them on, and, even though she was only dressed in her long-underwear, stepped out the door. “You see?” she said.

Peeta did see. The thin crust of ice over the snow held her weight for a fraction of a second, but then, with a crunch, it gave way as she sank down into the layers below. Each step was laborious. She circled and returned to the door. As challenging as it had been breaking a trail through the deep snow, this made getting around even more difficult. With each step, a foot had to rise above the surface before advancing. No more plowing through powder. Hunting and foraging would be tougher.

But a thought occurred to Peeta causing him to grin. “It’ll make it that much harder for anyone to reach us. Same with the mutts.”

Katniss answered with a laugh. “Trust you to see this as a reason for optimism.”

Peeta blushed. Him, an optimist? Who would have thought it? But it was impossible to think of something so visually beautiful as anything but good.

Katniss slipped past him, and he closed the door. He admired the graceful line of her legs as she slipped off her boots, the way her arms flexed as she placed them neatly beside his own, and how small wisps of dark hair escaped her braid after a night in his arms. He realized that the idea applied to her as well. How could he have ever believed she was the enemy?

“But we still need to eat,” she said. “So we’ll just have to make the best of it.” She gave a resolute nod of her head, and began to dress.

Peeta chuckled. He hoped to do exactly that.


	6. The Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING CHANGE: The title of this chapter gives a not-so-subtle hint of what to expect in this update. ;-) With the help and encouragement of my dedicated betas, this chapter was expanded and embellished from the original draft. As a result, I feel it necessary to change my rating from an ‘M’ to ‘E’. I hope readers are okay with that. 
> 
> So much love to papofglencoe, finduilasnumenesse, and titaniasfics for all your help and encouragement! You three go through my drafts with a fine-toothed comb, spotting all the errors, and offering amazing suggestions for how to improve the story. A special shout out to papofglencoe for her reassurance and advice as I wrote the smutty parts! You are the absolute best, my friends!
> 
> I know readers are sometimes curious about musical inspirations for authors, so, because of the nature of this chapter, I thought this was a good time to add a little note about the songs that played in my mind as I wrote 'Silver Thaw.' 
> 
> I have to smile about the first song— I first heard it on a fan-made Everlark video that came across my tumblr dash, and really loved the song. After searching with the lyrics to try to figure out the title and artist, hoping to purchase it, I finally discovered that it was actually from a commercial for a German retailer! So there may be some readers from Europe who know this song in an entirely different context! But it is a lovely song—hauntingly bittersweet, full of moody, wintery imagery and yet soothing and full of gentleness—perfect lyrics (some nice nods to favourite canon lines) and melody for Everlark and 'Silver Thaw.' 
> 
> Have a listen to 'Best Friends' by Supreme Music on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_I235BtCjE
> 
> The second one is another perfect Everlark song, called ‘Light a Fire’ by Rachel Taylor. It has already served as an inspiration for a lovely story by my talented beta, titaniasfics, and the incredible video-creator, akai-echo. Here is the link to their wonderful work: http://akai-echo.tumblr.com/post/131232539481/this-video-was-made-after-a-beautiful —Be sure to check them out!

**Chapter 6 - The Lovers**

Waking up to the silver thaw had left Peeta reinvigorated— not just by the beauty of it, but by the reprieve it offered them. He was happy to see Katniss’s spirits lifted, too. After having her courage shaken by the mutt-bear attack and the terrible memories it evoked, and then from learning the news about the rebel treachery, she now emanated stoic strength. He hated being the bearer of disturbing revelations, even though it had brought them closer.

He tilted his face toward the sun for a moment before dropping his gaze to Katniss when she pointed out a mockingjay perched in a bare maple tree. Katniss sang a few simple notes. They both smiled when the strange little bird sang back to them. It had been a good day, good enough that they could forget all about another Mockingjay.

Despite the hardship of traversing the crusty snow, within a couple of hours they had gathered a large quantity of edible plants, harvested more of the mussels, and gotten a wild turkey near the stream. Soon after they turned for home, they added a snowshoe hare to their collection.

Peeta was frustrated that it had taken several rounds to hit the skittering hare as it sped over the icy snow. He knew he’d become distracted observing Katniss’s back as she nimbly broke a trail in front of him. He couldn’t take his eyes from her braid as it swished back and forth, drawing his eye down to the tantalizing sway of her hips as she moved through the forest.

When Katniss retrieved the hare, he was muttering to himself for being so sloppy, embarrassed by how the small, swift creature had taken him by surprise. He noticed Katniss biting her lip, suppressing a grin.

“I suppose you’d have gotten it with one arrow?” he said with feigned offense.

She gave him a teasing glance— one eyebrow cocked, a merry glint in her eye. But she didn’t say anything. Peeta couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing Katniss using her bow for real, and even besting him, made his heart beat a little faster with excitement. It was a new sensation for someone so dedicated to winning.

“Well, I’m not relinquishing my title as the best shot in Panem until I see the proof,” he joked, which made her give a huff. But rather than make a snarky retort, she grew quiet and apparently absorbed in thought.

As they trudged back to the cabin, Katniss asked how many bullets he had left, and Peeta answered that he still had over twenty in the magazine. There were also the remaining stun darts, if needed. After a couple of minutes of silence, she stopped and touched his arm.

“Depending on how long we’re here, maybe we should try to get to my family’s home. I could rearm my bow and collect what I need for snares.”

Peeta sensed trepidation in her voice. “When were you last there?” he asked, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She hugged herself. “Not since they were killed.”

“We’ll go if and when you decide it’s needed,” he replied, and she gave a small nod.

When they got back to the cabin, Katniss went to work preparing the animals, starting with removing the hide from the hare. She packed the meat in snow and began plucking the turkey. There was enough food for days, which, given the difficulty and the risk of leaving the cabin, was a relief.

Peeta chipped the coating of ice away from the depleted wood pile. They’d used up all the smaller pieces, so he would need to split the rest into usable sizes for the woodstove.

 _Well_ , he murmured to himself. _No time like the present._

He looked at Katniss as he took off his parka and laid it aside. She gave him a smile and ripped another handful of feathers from the turkey. It didn’t escape his attention that she covertly glanced in his direction from time to time, and, as a result, he found himself wielding the ax with a bit more showmanship than the job required.

After nearly a half hour swinging the ax, Peeta’s stomach started to protest. Satisfied with the work he’d done, he started to gather a load of firewood in his arms to carry inside.

_Thwap!_

The soft blow to the back of his head triggered an instinctive quickening of reflexes and tightening of muscles. With sharpened senses, Peeta dropped the wood and spun around. He was reaching for the rifle leaning against the wood pile when he realized the source of the attack. It was only Katniss. The tension in his body abated, and he reached up to brush away the snow that still clung to his wavy hair.

For a moment he was annoyed. He was about to tell her to knock it off— to remind her it was still dangerous and they needed to pay attention— but when he saw her expression he stopped. Katniss’s lips were curled around her teeth, and her eyes were wide with mischief and challenge. His chest flooded with an effervescence that left him almost lightheaded. He couldn’t remember what it was like to simply play. Everything, including the Games, had been serious, with little room for fun. He teased her with a warning glare, feigning outrage.

“So you wanna play that way, Miss Everdeen?” he taunted. “Game on!”

She let out a laugh, throaty and full of pure delight, as if it connected directly to her heart, her eyes flashing with excitement.

In a seamless, lightning-quick move, Peeta dropped low, reached through the crust of snow and hurled a snowball at her. She spun away just in time so that it missed its mark, glancing off of her shoulder instead. She wasn’t so lucky the second time, though, and cried out with a mirthful shriek as the next snowball caught her square between the shoulder blades.

Peeta scrambled— half-plowing, half-crawling— to catch her as Katniss tried to put distance between them. She laughed so hard she was gasping for breath as they both struggled through the ice-crusted snow in almost comical slow motion. When he got close enough, he leapt forward, his hand grasping ahold of her ankle. She squealed in mock terror as he dragged her back toward him.

But just as he pulled her within reach, she surprised him with a mitt-full of snow, and, before he could stop her, she reached up, pulled the collar of his sweater away from his neck, and stuffed it all down his back.

“Dammit, Katniss! That’s cold!” he protested, sitting back on his heels.

He writhed and stretched his arms around his back as he felt the combination of powdery snow and icy crystals sting his warm skin. Reaching his hand under the collar of his sweater and thermal underwear, he tried to scoop away the snow, but only succeeded in pushing it further down his back.

Katniss pulled off her mittens, and, looking contrite, scooted around on her knees behind him. She lifted the bottom hem of his clothing up a bit to help dislodge the snow. Peeta froze when he felt the chilly air touch his bare skin. Katniss froze, too.

“What’s that?” she asked in a hushed voice, no longer joking around. “How did—”

“It’s nothing,” Peeta cut her off in a clipped voice. He turned his back away from her and tugged the undershirt and sweater back down.

He got to his feet and headed for the wood pile, leaving her crouched in the snow. He glanced in her direction as he bent down to pick up the scattered firewood, but she remained where she was, small worry lines across her forehead.

After a moment she got up, collected the meat from their hunt, picked up the foraging bag, and brought it all inside. She carried most of the food down into the cellar, reserving the remainder for their dinner. Peeta ignored the melting snow seeping through the layers of his clothing, chilling his skin, as he built a fire.

Once the wood in the stove was burning nicely, Peeta stood staring at the flames. When he couldn’t stand the feel of his damp sweater any longer, he pulled it off and hung it over the back of a chair to dry. He could feel Katniss’s gaze following him, and he clenched his eyes shut as she moved behind him, her hands reaching for the hem of his undershirt. When he made a weak attempt to twist away to stop her, she clasped his arm.

He remained still as her gentle fingers rolled up the shirt, his heart beating faster the higher it went. When it rose to just under his armpits, Peeta heaved a sigh. He reached back over his shoulders, pulled the thin material up and over his head, and tossed the shirt to join the sweater.

Neither of them made a sound. Peeta knew the scars well. But he’d avoided looking at them for years. He’d relegated them to the land of nightmares, never wanting to be reminded that they were real. He twisted his head around, frowning as he tried to get a glimpse of what Katniss saw. All he could see was the tail end of one long scar that ended on the back of his right shoulder— puckered tissue, smooth, and a bit shiny compared to the rest of his skin. But it had lost the angry, red color he remembered. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, to read her reaction. Her expression was serious as she contemplated the crisscrossing trails of scar tissue.

“It’s ugly.” He felt he needed to apologize for it for some reason.

She bit her lip and ran a finger with featherlight touch along one of the scars. “I don’t know about that,” she answered. “It reminds me a little of a spider’s web when it’s covered in dew.”

The comparison to something so elegant and lovely made his breath catch in his throat.

With a wry smile she raised her gray eyes to meet his gaze and asked, “Is this your game? You setting a trap for me?”

Peeta answered earnestly, “You know I’m not.”

She nodded slowly and returned to tracing his scars. “How did it happen?”

“I was thirteen, guiding with my father. My brother Rye was supposed to go, but he’d come down sick. Our guest was a very influential, powerful man— Panem’s Minister of Defense.” Katniss’s eyes narrowed, and Peeta’s face grew grim.

“Ironically, the man had never fired a gun before. I guess that’s why he was there, to learn a thing or two, to gain some hands-on experience. Anyway, it was my first time on an official guiding trip, and I wasn’t paying as close of attention as the occasion demanded. It was autumn, and I was too distracted, admiring the color of the leaves. I didn’t see the grizzly attack from behind where I was supposed to be keeping watch.”

“Grizzly? What’s that?” she asked.

“A big, aggressive bear. Like the one that attacked us, except not a mutt. It leapt on me because I was the closest, had me pinned on my stomach as it clawed right through all my clothing, shredding my back.” He tipped his head toward the back of his shoulder.

“That must have been terrifying,” Katniss whispered.

“Yeah, it was.” He clenched his jaw. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He walked over to the side of the bed and sat down, suddenly feeling weary. He felt the mattress give under Katniss’s weight as she crawled over the end of the bed to kneel behind him. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, her thumb running over the scars on the nape of his neck.

Peeta swallowed. “I waited for my father to come to my rescue. Instead, he chose to help our guest take the shot. The man had no skill, and the first bullet was off-target. I thought I was going to die, it was so painful and frightening. The second shot did the job though.”

“Why?” Her tone was incredulous, and he knew what she was asking.

“My father had only a second to react. He could have saved me first thing, but it had been such a huge honor to have this man as our guest, and there was a lot of pressure on us to do well. The whole hunting trip would have been a huge embarrassment, or even made the minister think we were incompetent as guides by possibly putting his life at risk, too. My father couldn’t allow that.

“So, in that split second, he spun the situation around. By letting our guest get the kill, he turned him into the government hero who saved the hunting guide’s son. It was a win-win for everyone— the man got a lot of respect throughout the country when it hit the news, propping up his credentials. In return, my father and our lodge got his support. All because the minister knew the truth that my father had concocted the whole thing to make him look good.”

“Win-win,” Katniss snorted. “Not much of a win for you.”

“No,” Peeta whispered, but he managed a thin smile. “I had nightmares for years about that attack. But I haven’t had another dream about that bear since I came here. And killing that mutt, in a way, helped me, too.”

“But you still have nightmares.”

He turned his head toward her and furrowed his brow.

“You twitch in your sleep, like you're constantly checking over your shoulder, nervous something is sneaking up on you,” she explained.

He nodded— the red eyes that he feared would forever torment him.

Peeta remembered how one evening, a couple of days after the defense minister’s departure, he’d carefully made his way to the kitchen, his back painfully crisscrossed with stitches and bandages. He kept to the shadows when he saw his parents, heads together, whispering.

 _‘You did what you had to do,’_ his mother had said to his father through pursed lips. She pointed at the newspaper on the table between them. _‘If you hadn’t, we could have lost everything. Not just Peeta.’_

“That day, everything I thought I knew about the world changed. I learned what it was to be really afraid. And alone. It wasn’t just the bear. It was my father. It was my whole family. At first I was hurt and confused. Then I grew resentful. But after a while I understood their fear.”

He closed his eyes as Katniss’s fingers continued to trace his scars down the length of his back, stopping just above the waistband of his pants. Her touch on his damaged skin felt exquisite after years of neglect. Ripples of goosebumps followed her warm hand, like rays of sun awakening long-frozen earth.

“About a week after the attack, the lodge got some good press, and a lineup of high-profile guests started to show up. I happened to make a snarky comment about it, and my mother struck me across the face. It wasn’t just temper at my impertinence. I saw the panic behind her scorn— the way her eyes darted around, worried that someone had overheard me. We needed the minister on our side.” He gave a small huff. “It’s important to have a powerful friend in the government. It’s how people get by in the Capitol.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “That’s what I dream about. About how I have to look out for myself, because no one else will. Always trying to be good enough, and never letting my family down again. I tried to make up for my failure by winning in the Games. Then the war broke out, and they ordered me here. I didn’t believe I had any other option.” He dropped his head and confessed, “Not exactly a life to be proud about, being a dutiful pawn in other people’s games.”

She reached out to graze her fingers along his jaw, turning his face to hers. “I’m glad they sent you. And you aren’t a piece in someone’s game anymore.”

He treasured the way her words filled him with new confidence. “No. Not anymore… And neither are you. Now do you understand why I would never turn you over to the Capitol?”

Katniss brought her lips down and kissed a scar on the edge of his neck. Surprised by her kiss, Peeta released an audible sigh.

She rested her chin on his shoulder. “I won’t do that to you, what your father did.”

That made the corners of his mouth turn up. “You promise to always have my back?”

She slipped her arms around his body from behind and laid her cheek against the top of his back. “I’d put you someplace where you couldn’t get hurt.”

Somehow he knew she wasn’t just talking about physical injury. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the anguish he hadn’t known was choking his throat. It was the first time since he was thirteen that he thought about death and wasn’t afraid.

“Me too,” he whispered back.

It was hard to think about the future when their pasts had been shrouded in fear and violence. They knew so little about each other, even though they had pledged to protect each other going forward. But there was something on Peeta’s mind. It was almost embarrassing to admit. And yet, he couldn’t help the worry that gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

They were existing in a bubble in this cabin. There was no way to ignore that Katniss might have a life outside their immediate concerns, beyond the circumstances that had driven them together.

“Katniss, is there someone else? You know... somebody special?” he asked.

She was silent for a second, perhaps surprised by his question. She sat back and took a breath, considering her answer.

“Yes,” she said, but she dragged the word out with hesitation in her voice. “The son of my father’s cousin. Our parents wanted us to marry.”

Peeta’s heart fell into his stomach. Of course Katniss would have someone. “Will you? I mean, do you love him?” He looked over his shoulder.

The corner of her mouth ticked up a fraction. “Yes, I love him, because he’s family. We’ve known each other since we were babies. My parents knew he’d be a good husband, so it’s what they wanted for me. I grew up expecting we’d end up together. If the rebellion hadn’t come, maybe we’d be married by now. But he joined the rebels, and plans changed. But he’s brave. And a good hunter.”

“As good as me?” Peeta couldn’t help ask, hating how insecure he sounded.

That brought a smile to her face. She tipped her head to the side, studying his face. “Difficult to say. He’s more of a trapper.”

Peeta sighed and twisted around to fully face her— to face the reality as Katniss continued.

“Outliers have always stuck with their own people. We never had reason to get to know outsiders, let alone trust them.” She leaned in a little. “At least, not until now.”

A tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. “What will you do? I mean, after the war is over.”

“Assuming we all live through this?” she teased, her voice a little ironic.

Peeta shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to know.

“My family’s gone,” she said with melancholy. “I don’t need to worry about what they wanted for me anymore.”

He sucked in a breath, hanging on her next words.

“And I thought you made me a promise,” she said, her eyes scanning his face. “To go find the midnight sun.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I think… I think I’d like to do that.”

He couldn’t help the broad smile that erupted on his face. He took her face in both his hands, and when she leaned in and closed her eyes he kissed her. Slow and soft, like a solemn pledge. When their lips parted they sat, unmoving, their foreheads together, their eyes locked on each other.

“So I guess, in a way, the rebellion was a piece of luck for me,” he said, and she grinned.

“Yeah, maybe for both of us,” she answered.

Katniss’s stomach gave a loud rumble, which made them both chuckle.

“Now that we have that cleared up, maybe we should eat,” Peeta said, aware of his own hunger. Katniss laughed again, rose from the bed, and tossed him his undershirt, now dry. He slipped it over his head and joined her as they prepared dinner.

Since the mussels wouldn’t keep, they chose to eat them that evening. Katniss added the turkey legs to their meal, simmering them until the meat fell from the bones. Watercress and thawed wild plums rounded out the meal.

They were almost finished when Peeta pointed at the last mussel in the bowl between them, indicating for Katniss to have it.

She paused and replied, “No, that’s okay. You can eat it.” She rose from her chair to go heat water for tea.

“Are you sure?” he asked as she set the kettle on the stove.

“Yes!” she insisted. “After the way I won our snowball fight, it’s only fair.”

Peeta gave a huff, split open the shell, and chuckled.

“Hey, look at this!”

Katniss turned from the stove as he removed a freshwater pearl that had been nestled inside the shell. Its irregular surface was lined with several thin ridges, and it was silvery in color, tinged with a slight rainbow iridescence. Unlike the highly-valued unmarred pearls sold in Capitol jewelry stores, it was small and far from perfect. But it was intriguing and unique in its imperfection. Peeta rose from the table and held it out in the palm of his hand. He smiled, suddenly feeling nervous.

“It’s pretty,” Katniss said, taking ahold of his hand and drawing it near so she could examine the pearl more closely. Her eyes darted up to his, and the corner of her mouth curved up. “It’s good luck.” She became a little pensive. “Hard to believe something so beautiful could grow out of pain.”

It wasn’t just a comment on natural processes. It was an acknowledgment of their past tragedies, linking them in a way that made Peeta believe there was nothing he couldn’t face if she was beside him.

“Then I’d like you to have it,” he said with a hopeful smile, holding it out to Katniss.

He was offering more than the pearl to her, and from the way her lips parted and her cheeks blushed, she understood it, too. She gazed at the pearl, glanced up at him once more, and then, reaching out with delicate fingers, she accepted it. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Tea?” he asked, his eyes asking another question.

Katniss reached behind her and moved the kettle to the side.

“Later,” she answered in a breathy voice, and, with the pearl in her fist, she threw her arms around his neck.

He was unprepared and nearly stumbled from the collision of their bodies, but the moment Katniss pulled his head down for a kiss, he gave himself over to her embrace with equal ardor. They shuffled blindly across the room— kissing as their restless hands traveled over their clothing, desperately searching for skin— until the back of Peeta’s knees hit the foot of the bed. She gave his shoulders an insistent push, and he dropped down heavily onto the mattress, with Katniss standing between his thighs.

They both gave a breathless laugh. Katniss slipped the pearl into her pants pocket alongside her sister’s ribbon and crawled onto his lap, taking his face in her hands. They sat quietly for a moment, their panting breath mingling, and their eyes locked on each other in anticipation. She ran a thumb across his lips before leaning in to claim them with her own.

Peeta slid his hands down her back, and, when he reached her waist, he hugged her tightly against him, relishing the feel of her body pressed to his. He sucked in a breath when he felt her fingertips slipping under the hem of his undershirt. She gave a frustrated grunt as she tried to tug it up between their clinging bodies. Peeta pulled away from her just enough so that she could remove it for the second time that day.

Biting her bottom lip, she began to peel off her sweater. Peeta placed his hands over hers, asking for her permission to do it. By way of reply, she lifted her arms, and he slid both her sweater and tank top off in one motion. He sat still for a moment to admire the view— her smooth, olive-toned skin and the gentle swells of her sweet breasts that begged for his touch. Suddenly shy under his gaze, Katniss crossed her arms over her chest.

“I know they’re not… I wish…” she stammered, her voice barely audible.

He smiled and touched her cheek, bringing his lips to the side of her neck. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against her throat.

Cradling her head in the crook of one arm and circling the other around her waist, Peeta rolled her off his lap to lay her down on her back. She gazed up at him, her breasts concealed behind her hands. Her anxiety about something so lovely made his heart ache to reassure her.

He brought his lips down to one of her hands, softly kissing the back of her fingers before lifting the hand away from her breast. Lying beside her, he stretched her arm above her head and began to trace a finger, as gently as she had touched his scars, from the palm of her upturned hand, down her arm, to the top of her ribcage. When he reached the side of her breast he raised his eyes to hers. They were smoky with want, and he sighed when she arched her back, pressing her breast to his hand. She moaned softly as his fingers teased her stiffening nipples, her head tilting to the side when his lips moved to her neck. He couldn’t resist licking the salt from the skin of her throat.

His hand drifted down her stomach until it reached the top of her pants. He raised his head to look into her eyes, and when she nodded he sat back on his haunches. After removing her boots, he unbuttoned her pants and slid them down, along with her underwear, letting his hands smooth over her toned legs.

He took a moment to revel in the sight of her reclined on the bed. Though she was the one naked, Peeta felt he was the one left exposed and powerless. He was trapped by the vision of beauty before him. “You’re perfect,” he repeated in a reverent whisper.

Katniss brought her hand to his face. “You too,” she answered with such sincerity it made his breath catch.

He’d sought perfection most of his life, but it had always remained out of reach. Even his Winter Games victory had served as proof of how gullible and powerless he was. But Katniss didn’t care about any of that.

“Your turn now,” she murmured, sitting up. He lay back, compliant to her touch, relishing the feel of her fingers as they brushed his hips, gliding over his thighs, making his heart race as she finished undressing him.

Their clothes discarded on the floor, they lay side-by-side for a moment without touching. Katniss’s eyes traveled over the broad expanse of his body, and she swallowed, her eyes serious. She reached out a tentative hand and ran it over his chest and down his body. Every muscle quivered under her touch, and Peeta closed his eyes and sighed. He was already aroused, but as her hand followed the trail of blond hair down his lower abdomen, he felt himself twitch in anticipation.

When her hand left his skin, he opened his eyes and saw that she was staring at him, eyes darting between his cock and his face, as if undecided how to progress.

“Have you done this before?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

She was breathing quickly, and small lines formed between her eyes. “No.” She sounded nervous, but her hands sought him out again, her fingers tracing swirling patterns through the hair on his chest. “Have you?”

A fleeting image of his encounter in District 1 made his gut twist, but he quickly banished the thought. That memory had no right to be recalled, even in the most dismissive way, in the place he shared with the beautiful girl lying with him now.

“Not really,” he murmured.

She must have sensed the regret in his voice because she softly kissed his cheek and whispered back, “It doesn’t matter.”

 _Do you love me?_ he longed to ask. Would she hesitate, uncertain of her answer? Or even say, _‘No_ ’? He didn’t think he could bear it, so the question remained trapped in the back of his throat.

When he kissed her again, she parted her lips, eagerly accepting the invitation to taste what his tongue had to tell her. These kisses were less frantic than the ones from earlier. Into them he poured all the love and longing that had built inside him, waiting all these years, for her.

Emboldened, Katniss pressed her body against his. They sighed in unison from the heat of their flushed skin as it made contact. Her hands ran possessively over his back, her touch causing his skin to quiver as her fingers brushed between the scars and his unmarred flesh. When she slid her leg over his thigh, pulling him even closer, he released a groan.

He moved his lips to the delicate skin beneath her ear and murmured, “I’ll be gentle.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she answered almost defiantly, her trembling hand circling around his cock and causing him to suck in a breath.

They murmured words of encouragement and approval as they explored and fondled. His hands became more assertive as she writhed under his touch. He could have spent all night caressing and adoring her body, revelling in each gasp and moan, even though it was getting more and more difficult to focus.

His fingers brushed across the juncture of her thighs, and he asked, “Is this okay?” He wanted this to be for her pleasure, but the moment she nodded and allowed him permission, he realized it was as much for his, witnessing her come apart at his hands.

When she came down from her high, Peeta lifted his face to look up at hers, damp with perspiration and flushed with passion. He ran a hand across her forehead, brushing the dark hair off her face that had come loose from her braid. Her hands dropped down to smooth over his muscular buttocks. Grabbing his hips, she maneuvered his body between her legs, cradling his hips with her bent knees.

“Katniss,” he moaned.

“I want you,” she answered. “Please…Peeta...” He adored the way his name rolled off her tongue as she pleaded for him.

She welcomed the long, open-mouthed kiss he offered as he guided himself into her warm, slick folds that seemed to beg for him.

With one more kiss, he gave a shallow thrust, stopping when she sucked in a sharp breath. He ran a thumb across her cheek and whispered her name, “Katniss?”

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, urging him to continue with a press of her lips to his. With gentle care, he began to move slowly, attentive to her response as she adjusted to him being inside her. With caresses and whispers, she told him to not stop.

When he felt her relax beneath him, he murmured her name and reached down between them. At the feel of his fingers between her thighs, she moaned softly. She moved along with him with growing urgency until he felt her fingers digging greedily into his buttocks. With a determined gasp, Katniss thrust her hips up to meet him, fully sheathing him inside her body.

A cry escaped both their lungs, and Peeta could no longer hold back. After a few erratic thrusts, they soon found their rhythm, powerful and true, like the wings of a great bird taking to the sky. It was intoxicating and exquisite. Inside her he discovered a sense of wholeness he’d never sought before because he never believed it existed.

The discovery of it, and the quickening of his heartbeat as he approached his climax, brought tears to his eyes. The way her body welcomed him, hugging his hard flesh inside her, the way he filled her so completely, was almost too much to bear. When he felt Katniss shudder beneath him and saw her face contort as she came again, he let go and joined her. When the ecstasy passed, he collapsed against her body, shaking from the intensity of the experience.

Peeta lay still for a moment, savoring the heady sensation, before rolling them both over so Katniss lay on his chest. Once their hearts calmed to a languid beat, she lifted her head, her disheveled hair a halo framing her flushed face. Unspoken words lay on her open lips, and, though he thought she looked beautiful, he was concerned when he saw what appeared to be distress in her eyes.

_Did I do something wrong?_

With an aching heart, he smoothed his hands over her face and hair, asking in a quiet, apologetic voice, “What’s wrong?”

_Does she regret what happened?_

“I’m so sorry, Katniss. If you think this was a mistake, I promise there doesn’t have to be a next time…” She stopped him, pressing her fingers against his lips.

“I want a next time. I want lots of next times,” she whimpered, and he understood her anguish.

 _How much time do we have left?_ But the intensity of the moment clouded his mind, and he released the worrisome thoughts for another time.

“I think I can manage that,” Peeta answered with a smile. “All you have to do is ask.”

The worry lines vanished from Katniss’s face, and she gave him a soft kiss. He sighed contentedly and wrapped them both in the blankets. With her body nestled against him, he hugged her tightly in his embrace, wanting nothing else but for her to let him hold her. Her arms circled around him, too, telling him it was enough.

_I wish I could freeze this moment and live in it forever. If I could find a way, I’d be happy for the rest of my life._

As he closed his eyes in blissful rest, he dared to envision a future with Katniss. And he allowed himself to hope that perhaps it could be real.


	7. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time running out, Peeta and Katniss search for a way to escape the Arena. But things don’t go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter remains for 'Silver Thaw'!
> 
> Big hugs to papofglencoe and titaniasfics for your help with this chapter! This was a challenging one to write, and your suggestions and nudges are so appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Chapter 7 - The Escape**

He was lost in the dark gray of twilight, wandering without direction, within the nightmare. The air was frigid, chilling him to the bone. He shivered, but not only from the cold air— he knew it was a matter of moments before the last of the light would be gone.

Then _they_ would arrive.

It didn’t matter how vigilant he was. It didn’t matter how many of the red eyes he was able to snuff out with defensive blows. There were always more. They just kept coming and coming until the inevitable moment when he knew all was lost and he’d curl up in fetal position on the ground in resignation, awaiting the fatal blow.

 _They don’t own you anymore._ And yet, here he was, at their mercy.

As the last of the light faded and the clock in his head ticked toward the final hour when the terror would begin, he felt the faint rush of warm air passing over him. And he thought he caught the flash of dark wings. He was confused, and wary. As horrible as the old, familiar nightmares were, he hated the unpredictability of this new one even more. His survival strategy had been built on anticipating his opponent. But how could he anticipate something he didn’t understand?

 _You’re the hunter,_ his mind protested. _Not the prey._

But how could he fight an invisible enemy?

 _Remember the mutt-bear!_ He’d seen through its camouflage. Defeated it.

This wasn’t a mutt in the revealing light of day, though. How could he survive in the dark with the sound of his own fear— his pounding heart, panting breath— drowning out his other senses? His hands searched for his rifle and came up empty. He could feel the panic crawling up his spine, forming into a scream.

Then he felt it. Soft, like a feather across his back, and he grew calm. Seeking a safe place to hide, he buried his face between her breasts, felt her arms and legs wrap around him like a tangling net, ensnaring him in an embrace from which he sought no escape. Having found a trustworthy shelter, he drifted back into restful sleep.

This time, when the red eyes returned, he thought he could detect the sweet music of someone singing somewhere in the black void. Peeta awoke with a start, but he didn’t reach for his rifle. He was too curious about the source of the melody to even think of it. Instead he reached for the other side of the bed, and, finding it was still warm but empty, he furrowed his brows in concern and opened his eyes.

It was early, not quite daytime, though the faint, bluish light of dawn peeked in from the windows. Katniss was crouched by the stove, naked, her back to him, the sound of water splashing in a bowl. And she was singing to herself. It was such a pretty tune, he lay quietly, not wishing to disturb her in case she stopped.

She straightened up, and he saw his undershirt in her hands. She gave it a shake and flipped it over the rope that hung across the room. He recognized his old clothesline from the first night at the cabin. Katniss stooped down and turned her attention to another item, still humming her song.

“Hey there,” he said in a husky voice, lifting himself up on his elbows and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Doing laundry?”

She smirked at him over her shoulder and replied, “If we’re going to spend the rest of the day naked in bed, we may as well have clean clothes.”

He liked the sound of the ‘naked in bed’ part. The sooner her task was done, the better, so he threw back the blankets and came to her side. She had a small cake of soap from the cupboard, which she rubbed over the material in her hand. Peeta reached toward the item of clothing— her long underwear— and took it from from her grasp.

“Let me do the scrubbing, and you can do the wringing.”

She grinned, and together they finished the job.

With the last item washed, Peeta leaned down and opened the front of the stove. He had just topped up the firewood when he felt a sharp, cold smack on his ass. He sprung up, twisting around, and was met with Katniss’s laughter. One end of her damp tank top was clutched in her hand, and she snapped it like a whip a second time, catching him in the chest with a wet slap.

“You’re not getting away with that this time!” he warned her, a broad grin on his face. Scooping her up, he threw her over his shoulder. She writhed and pretended to fight as carried her back to the bed.

“Wait!” she cried out.

He stopped, and she waved the tank top in her hand. He backed up to the clothesline, and, once she added it to the rest of their clothing, he resumed his mission to ravish her, starting with tossing her on the bed and kissing her senseless.

Mission accomplished, Katniss snuggled into his arms and tugged the blankets up over them. She sank her nose into the woolen material, took a big whiff, and smiled. Peeta remembered their musty scent from the first night.

“You like the smell of them?” he asked, wrinkling up his nose.

“I didn’t before,” she replied. “But I do now… They smell like us.” Her eyes were dreamy as Peeta pressed his lips to her forehead.

“You were singing,” he murmured into her hair.

Katniss grew still. “I haven’t wanted to since my family died. But I’ve felt like it ever since…” She gently nuzzled the side of his throat.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “I hope you never stop singing again.”

Later— sated, warm, and drowsy— they fell back to sleep. Despite how they’d passed the morning, the disturbing dreams preyed on Peeta’s mind— persisting, invading his cocoon of happiness. Even awake, it taunted his conscious mind.

Peeta learned he wasn’t the only one fighting back dark thoughts. Taking down their dried clothing, Katniss seemed agitated. Grasping her hands, he stopped her work.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” She paused, then looked up at him. “When I close my eyes, my dreams… I keep seeing them die. And then I’m alone.”

He nodded and pulled her close, “I know,” he whispered. “But you know I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he answered.

It was enough to fortify the illusion of safety for the rest of the day. But that night, the images returned fully-formed, haunting his sleep once again. The faint ticking of the clock in his head became a clamorous warning as he slept.

Peeta awoke to the creaking of the hatch. He lay very still, focusing on the sound as the nightmare dissipated. The early morning light glowed warmly through his eyelids, and he spied Katniss coming up from the cellar through his half-opened eyes. She deposited some food on the table, and, seeing he was awake, pounced on the bed. Wriggling back under the blankets, she possessively grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, she murmured, “I want to stay in bed all day.”

They hadn’t done much else the last couple of days. They were getting low on provisions.

Peeta grinned. “That sounds nice. But what will we do for food? We can’t stay here forever.”

He wished they could though.

 _Stay and live in this moment forever._ He repeated it in his head on a continuous loop. He found it calming.

He kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her loose hair. She’d let out the braid yesterday when they decided clean clothes should go on top of clean bodies and had indulged in the luxury of bathing each other. He loved the way her hair felt sliding through his fingers.

Katniss turned her face up to his, her eyes flashing.

“Then I’ll have to eat you up,” she practically growled through playful giggles, and he felt her teeth graze and nip along his jaw and down his neck as her greedy fingers tugged at the waves in his hair.

How was it possible that Katniss could be so wanton and yet so beautiful?

 _Because she is pure,_ he realized.

He thought of the others, the ones who schemed to get a piece of him— or his fame, more precisely— in order to use him. Their lascivious passes bore no resemblance to the girl attacking him at this moment.

Katniss continued her gentle assault, but reminders of the Capitol made Peeta grit his teeth. There’d been the subtle intimidation when he’d received the formal ‘request,’ written on government stationery, to be the escort for the president’s granddaughter at her extravagant sixteenth birthday party. That had been the worst— being paraded around like some prize pet.

Despite gaining the attention of Panem’s most powerful family, Effie had been stricken uncharacteristically mute, and even his mother had grown pale at her son’s ‘honor’ of being the girl’s chosen date.

She’d been a sweet enough girl, though, and the whole thing from her point of view had been an innocent celebrity crush. But the rest of the eyes following him, including her grandfather’s, had given him the creeps. The next month the rebellion began. Peeta was ashamed by his selfish relief that others’ misery had provided a reprieve for him, if only a temporary one.

But Katniss was different. She hadn’t been tainted by the depravity that he knew existed in the Capitol. Her motivations were not convoluted and twisted like many people he’d known.

 _‘Stupid creature!’_ his mother’s voice reminded him. _‘You’re supposed to watch your back.’_

Peeta couldn’t help smile. He wasn’t alone anymore. Katniss had his back, just like he had hers.

His eyes traveled over her skin. The thick eyebrows, the body hair, the long, dark tresses strewn across her face that hadn’t seen scissors in years, if ever.

_Natural._

He ran his finger over her forehead, touching the lingering mark at her hairline where she’d been injured in the river. He’d noticed there were other faint scars, too. He was able to capture one of her roaming hands and threaded his fingers through hers. He ran a thumb across the pale line on the back of it. When he pulled her in for a kiss, he saw the one just to the side of her eye. Probably the result of old hunting injuries.

_Real._

In the Capitol such blemishes would be smoothed away by skin doctors if the client was wealthy, or concealed by layers of cosmetics if they were less affluent. He hadn't done anything about his scars because he was afraid to acknowledge their existence. But on Katniss they shouted courage and honesty.

_Pure._

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the imperfection. She’d been telling him the truth about his scars. He understood it and believed it now— how they could be beautiful.

He could shed all the Capitol’s filth that clung to him. He could be pure, too.

A gust of wind rattled the door in its frame, and they both looked up. The sunlight grew dim as clouds moved across the sky. Katniss turned to him and sighed.

“Another storm?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” she answered. “The air feels colder this morning.”

It had been warm enough over the past couple of days to melt the ice and soften the crust lying over the snow. Peeta tried to ignore what it meant. Even though it made hunting and foraging easier, it would make it possible for other people to move around with ease, too. The trees that had provided a sanctuary around the cabin now pressed in on Peeta. The imaginary clock from his dream started to tick in his head, even though he was awake.

“Katniss?”

“Um, hmm?” she answered, restlessly shifting in his arms. Maybe she heard the ticking clock counting down, too.

“It’s no use pretending that we don’t know what’s really going on. We can’t ignore it forever. We need to figure out what we’re going to do. Come up with a plan.”

She shivered, so he ran a warm hand down her spine and back up to her shoulder. Then he kissed her and, throwing off the blankets, he got up and began to dress.

He needed to focus. _They_ needed to focus.

Katniss joined him without a word, her eyes growing sharp.

_Good. We must start thinking like hunters again._

She set the kettle on the stove to heat, and he reached into his parka pocket for the map. He unfolded it on the table, and she came and stood at his side. Peeta gave her a smile. This time they were in it together.

“These are all the Capitol outposts, at least where they were when I arrived,” he explained pointing them out. “I doubt they will make a move farther into the Arena. They don’t want to provoke the rebels into using the nuclear weapons in their arsenal.”

She quirked her eyebrow as she braided her hair. “Arena?”

“That’s what they’re calling this region,” he replied.

Katniss pointed to the D13 stronghold. “That’s the underground fortress.” He nodded.

She pointed to a spot on the map. “That’s where we are.” She slid her finger southeast. “And this is where my family’s home is located.”

It lay across the river in which they’d almost drowned, several miles downstream from the waterfall. Peeta dropped into one of the chairs and ran a hand over the stubble that now covered his face.

“Okay, so let’s figure out the best options,” he said. “We know you’re in danger from the Capitol. We need to avoid them at all costs.”

“The rebels can’t be trusted either,” Katniss replied.

Peeta furrowed his brow. “The Outliers aren’t a threat— they probably don’t know what we do. And even our suspicions are just theories…” He paused. “What if I’m wrong?”

“You aren’t,” she answered emphatically.

“Then your other option is to leave D13.” He ran a hand down her braid. “Fly away someplace where nobody recognizes you.”

When she looked at him with incredulity, he gave a sad chuckle. There was nowhere in Panem that the Mockingjay wasn’t known. He studied the map. Katniss needed to get outside the charted borders, get to the unknown lands beyond his map. A smile crept onto his face as her hand, resting on his shoulder, gave him a squeeze. Maybe it didn’t have to be a fantasy after all.

“We could head north.” He pointed to the top of the map, to where a great river delineated the northern boundary of Panem— the end of the known world as far as they were concerned. It wasn’t far. A week at most in these mountains, depending on the condition of the snow and how many trees had been brought down by heavy ice from the silver thaw.

Nobody ever talked about what lay outside Panem. Peeta had grown up never questioning that it was anything but a wasteland, rendered uninhabitable since the cataclysm. He was raised with the certain knowledge that without the comforts and luxuries provided by the Capitol, life would be brutal and short. He gave a huff. Things weren’t so much better inside the country.

“Do you know of any Outliers living outside Panem?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “We may not have wanted to be part of the system, but it was convenient to live where we could get our hands on things we found useful. Fabrics, tools, food we couldn’t get any other way. Stuff like that.” She smirked. “But it doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.”

Peeta was heartened by her confidence. With their combined knowledge and talents, if anyone could do it, they could.

“You don’t have to run away.” Her stoic tone caught him by surprise. “The Capitol isn’t out to get you, Peeta. You could go home.”

_Is she testing me?_

He shifted in the chair, and, slipping his arm around her waist, dragged her down to sit on his lap. “I don’t have a home that matters to me anymore. Other than the one where you are.”

“But if I disappear, the rebels will be able to use me as a martyr, right? Isn’t that what you were supposed to prevent?”

It wasn’t a guarantee that command would put it together that he’d aided the Mockingjay to escape if he disappeared. But he considered the possible implications. His value to the Capitol was connected to his image, his fame. When he’d met with Abernathy, even when the threat of the Mockingjay had been outlined, it wasn’t her actual behavior that had been the root of their problem. It was her image. They were propaganda tools, both of them. It wasn’t built on any reality. They didn't need him alive.

This new revelation made the answer clear.

“My worth to the Capitol is diminished if they do anything but portray it as something in their favor. They won’t want the embarrassment of my failure to complete my mission to get out. So they’ll look for a way to spin the story, create support for their side, somehow. I bet they’ll claim I died in some heroic way, helping rid the country of the rebel scourge,” he said with a huff. “They’ll claim the Mockingjay has been defeated. You can be sure the rebels will create their own story about it.”

She frowned. “What about your parents? If you come with me, if the Capitol realizes that you’ve helped me get away, what will happen to them?”

The leadership in the Capitol wouldn’t be pleased. Would his actions impact them? He ran a hand over his chin as he gave it some thought before answering. A bit of ice flowed through his arteries. His parents had always managed to do what they needed in order to survive, even if it was at his expense. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to hold their fear against them.

_People did what they needed to do to survive._

He recalled his earlier thoughts on survival— how people looked out for themselves in the Capitol instead of banding together the way the Outliers did. But there was a deeper answer that went beyond what was the better, more expedient way to stay alive. It lay in having a good reason to want to live.

_What is my reason to survive?_

He knew the answer now. She was right here, sitting on his lap. And, unlike the grizzly bear, this was his choice to make, not one thrust upon him.

“My parents don’t have any part in this. Plus, they’ve demonstrated unflinching loyalty to the Capitol.” They could take care of themselves. He hoped it was enough.

There was no way to know how it would end. What they were planning was riddled with risk. How likely was it that they would both make it out alive?

“My goal is to get you safely outside the borders. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He leaned in to kiss her, to solemnize his commitment, but she pulled back, her eyes narrowed. She searched his eyes but said nothing. With a sigh, whatever conflict was playing out in her head vanished, and she closed the gap to meet his kiss.

“We need to go to my family's home.” Katniss got up from his lap and went to make breakfast from their remaining provisions.

Peeta nodded. It wasn’t only to help them survive here at the cabin anymore. They’d need whatever supplies she could get her hands on for where they were going. Eventually he’d run out of ammunition, and his rifle would be useless.

“Let’s go today. Get as far away as we can.” He didn’t want to wait for the rebels to make the first move.

They scoured the cabin, gathering up anything they thought was useful. Lacking a backpack, they rolled up the gear as best they could in a blanket, using the rope to bind it into a bundle that could be carried over Peeta’s shoulder.

They were methodical as they prepared to leave, not allowing themselves to become worried about what lay ahead. It was only when they stood at the door preparing to leave that Peeta experienced a nostalgic ache. He scanned the interior of the cabin, reflecting on how it had transformed in his perception from a mere hovel to a beloved refuge in the storm. Katniss’s mittened hand slipped into his, and he pulled the door closed.

He sucked in a deep breath, staving off the anxiety about the task ahead of them. Seeing Katniss with her bow slung across her body bolstered his courage.

“Lead the way, Miss Everdeen,” he declared, giving her a reassuring smile.

They retraced the route that Peeta had taken when carrying Katniss from below the waterfall, then followed the river downstream until they reached a roughly-made footbridge. They crossed to the opposite side and hiked the remaining few miles to Katniss's home.

Along the way, Peeta’s mind became occupied with the rebellion. No matter which way things went for Panem, the outcome seemed bleak. As much as he tried to concentrate on keeping a lookout for mutts or rebel patrols, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“What is it?” Katniss asked when they stopped for a short break.

“It’s just… There’s a lot wrong with the country,” he tried to explain. “People suffering and afraid. Regardless of what the rebels here in D13 are doing, the rebellion happened for good reasons.”

He thought of Abernathy’s warning about what could happen to the country. The commander may be questionable in his support for Panem's leadership, but his sincerity on this issue seemed genuine. “There needs to be change, but the way the leaders in D13 are using the Mockingjay is putting everyone’s lives at risk in Panem.”

There was so much at stake, but what could they do? _‘Stay alive.’_ Abernathy’s parting words took on new meaning for Peeta.

Katniss’s response could have come from his own thoughts. “We do what we can to warn people. Starting with the other Outliers helping these rebels. They don’t know who they are allied with, what they’re capable of doing.”

“But how do we warn them without endangering them, too? If the Outliers are no longer seen as loyal assets to the rebellion...”

Katniss bit her lip as she pondered the dilemma. She brought her mittened hands to her face and began to tremble. Peeta sprang forward and pulled her into his arms.

“My family was responsible for drawing the rebels’ attention to the Outliers by saving that pilot,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“You don’t know that,” Peeta replied. “If it hadn’t been that encounter, the rebels probably would’ve reached out to the Outliers some other way. They needed you.”

Katniss shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Good intentions don’t mean a damn thing. My father, mother, Prim… they’re dead because of me. How many more of my people will pay the price?”

“That wasn’t your fault. You were doing your best to protect the ones you loved, and the rebels twisted that into something terrible. These deaths are not on your hands. You were caught in a fight between the Capitol and the rebels.”

He could feel her stop trembling in his arms as he stroked the back of her hair.

“There may not be a good side in this war. It’s about doing our best to survive it. And hope it ends soon,” he soothed.

She sucked in a ragged breath and nodded against his chest. “I wish we could do more.”

He kissed her forehead. “Maybe we’ll think of something. But for now, I just want to keep you safe.”

She lifted her head, wiped away her tears, and patted his arm. “We should keep going, or we’ll lose the sun.”

They crouched in the trees, watching the Everdeen home, until Katniss was satisfied it was deserted. There were tracks all around the site indicating that the place had been under recent surveillance. It made Peeta uneasy, but it gave Katniss an idea. She fetched a pencil and a scrap of paper from a cupboard.

“I can leave a message for my cousin, to warn him. Even if another Outlier is with the patrol, they’ll be sure to get it to him.”

“What will you say?” Peeta asked. “You can’t be certain who will find your note. If you say too much, it could still be a problem.”

She chewed on the end of the pencil for a moment, and then the corner of her mouth turned up and she began to write. Peeta looked over her shoulder at her note.

 _‘I’m still alive. Mutts almost got me. Next time might not be so lucky. The last time we hunted together— you were right.’_ She underlined that part for emphasis. _‘Take care of our people. Katniss’_

“That was the day we found the hovercraft. He’ll understand what it means— that he and his father were right about leaving that pilot. He’ll know I’m saying that the rebels can’t be trusted. It’s the best we can do.”

She folded the note in half and wrote her cousin’s name on the front, then left it lying on the table where it would be seen.

They moved with haste, collecting anything Katniss wanted— a backpack, wire for snares, a second hunting knife and a spare bow, dried food that was easy to carry, more blankets and waterproof material for shelter, a canteen, extra clothing, an additional flint…

It might have been his imagination, but Peeta could swear Katniss stood taller with a quiver full of arrows on her back alongside her bow.

“We need to hurry,” she said, leading the way outside.

She’d been guarded with her emotions the whole time, but when they stepped out into the cloudy afternoon and she glanced to the right of the building, the creases on her forehead betrayed her. Peeta saw the three wooden markers emerging from the semi-melted snow. Her parents’ and sister’s graves. He nestled his face against the side of her head, closed his eyes, and stood silently with his arm around her waist.

After a minute, she swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” she said with a brave smile and touched his cheek. “Let’s go.”

Backtracking, they traveled faster with a path in the snow to follow, but by the time they reached the waterfall it was already growing late in the day. Peeta crouched down to refill the canteen, and, in a flash, Katniss drew an arrow from her quiver and shot into the trees. She ran to retrieve her kill.

When she returned, there was a smirk on her face as she waved the snowshoe hare in front of him.

Peeta held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. I’ll admit it,” he said, trying his best to sound annoyed but suppressing a grin.

They lit a fire and quickly cooked and ate the hare before the light of the fire could give them away. By the time they’d traveled a short distance in the forest, it was dark, but they were reluctant to stop, even though they were exhausted from their long hike that day.

Neither of them liked sleeping with little protection from mutts, but they knew there would be many nights like this out in the open country ahead of them. They chose a suitable tree to use for a shelter.

They doubted sleep would come easily. Instead they tried to calm their anxiety by reviewing their strategy— the best route through the mountains that would take them to the great river to the north, and how they would get across the river. Peeta offered to take first watch.

As they lay curled up in the blankets, Peeta recalled his first night in D13 spent under another tree like this one. It made him think of the dream he’d had that night— his fears blended with the premonition of the Mockingjay. How things had changed since that night. This time he wasn’t alone.

“Peeta?” Katniss whispered.

“Um, hmm,” he murmured, surprised that she was still awake.

She slipped her hand out from under the covers, and he saw that his pearl and her sister’s blue ribbon lay in her palm. She rolled over onto her back to face him.

“You have eyes just like Prim’s. That day at the waterfall. I wasn’t just thinking of Prim. When I saw you, it was like a sign, and that’s what made me hesitate.”

After bristling at insincere flattery over the years, hearing Katniss say that one of his physical attributes may have helped save his life took him by surprise. He brought his head down to give her a kiss, and pulled her close against his chest as she closed her eyes.

They rose before dawn, tired but wired, and impatient to get moving. They chose to stay to the west, skirting the heart of rebel territory, but far enough into the forest that they would avoid the Capitol’s perimeter zone.

Their path took them back into familiar hunting grounds. When they approached the clearing where they had encountered the mutt-bear, Katniss tugged on Peeta’s sleeve.

“Let’s go around. I don’t want to see it,” she said.

Peeta agreed. He hoped it was the last mutt they’d have to face as they crossed the district, though he could see by the strain on Katniss’s face that she shared his doubt. But he furrowed his brow when he peered through the trees at the frozen carcass. It lay exposed even though they had covered it in evergreen boughs. He turned to Katniss to say something about it, when he saw her eyes grow wide and her hand reach for an arrow.

He brought his rifle up and scanned the forest, expecting another mutt. Instead, he saw a rebel patrol across the clearing. He whipped back around to Katniss. She was drawing the arrow, rage in her eyes. He knocked her to the ground, hoping his camouflage snow suit would hide them.

She squirmed underneath him. “Let me go!” she hissed.

“No,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“They killed my family!” Her voice was an angry whisper.

“And they’ll kill you, too,” he whispered back, knowing it was safer to remain hidden.

His desperate eyes pleaded with her, and, though he could feel her panting as he restrained her arms, she stopped struggling. The fire in her eyes diminished, and she released her hold on the arrow.

She twisted her head to the side, scanning the trees. “We need to move, before they get close enough to spot us.”

He rolled off of her, and she pointed to a tangled pile of debris— large limbs and small trees broken under the weight of the silver thaw were littering the ground. He nodded.

“You first, I’ll cover.” He twisted around, lying prone in the snow with his rifle pointed across the clearing.

Staying low, Katniss darted for the makeshift wooden barricade. Peeta checked over his shoulder to ensure she was safe and rose to a hunched stance. He was only a few steps away when he heard the call.

“Capitol!”

Despite his white snow suit, the rebels had spotted him. There was the crack of bullets being fired. As he dove for cover beside Katniss, there was a fleeting sensation of pain, but he wasn’t able to process it. She took aim with her bow. He caught a glimpse of her eyes. Not filled with fury this time, but fierce determination.

He rolled and shuffled over beside her, yanking her down to safety as the arrow took flight. He heard a cry as it hit its mark and saw the rebel drop. He scanned for more targets through the broken limbs. He was about to fire on a rebel who was taking aim at them when the man fell to the ground, red spreading out from his chest from someone else’s bullet.

“To the left!” Katniss cried.

Peeta recognized the uniforms of Capitol troops as they took position behind trees. The two opposing forces exchanged gunfire.

A shout from the rebels cut through the air, “Don’t let the Mockingjay be taken alive!”

_I was right._

Peeta grabbed Katniss by the scruff of her parka as she reached for another arrow. For which side it was intended— Capitol or rebel— he had no idea.

“Stay down!” he ordered.

She fell to the ground, her eyes flashing, her mouth open and ready to protest, when she gasped.

“Peeta! You’ve been hit!”

That pain from earlier. He felt it more acutely now as he saw the blossoming red staining his snow pants. Peeta reached down to clutch his thigh.

Katniss dropped her bow, pulled a shirt from her pack, and tied it around the wound. She grabbed an arrow and twisted it tight to form a tourniquet.

“I think that’ll stop the bleeding for now,” she said, “but we need to get someplace where I can get a better look at it. We’re too exposed out here.”

She raised her head to peek through their barricade. More bullets flew over their heads, and she dropped down. There was yelling across the clearing as someone barked out orders.

They were pinned down by two sides— one wanting to capture Katniss alive and the other wanting them both dead. They needed to create a diversion. But how?

A faint humming grew in the west. The rumbling became a roar. Peeta saw the approaching hovercraft— its Capitol insignia emblazoned on a wing— barely fifty feet above the tops of the trees. The guns aboard the plane began to fire on the rebels. Maybe their luck was changing.

“Let’s go!” Katniss yelled, dragging him to his feet. They made a hasty retreat away from the clearing. Back toward the cabin.

 _What is Abernathy doing?_ Peeta asked himself as Katniss helped support his weight when it became apparent his leg was slowing him down. Why send in hovercrafts now? It didn't make sense.

The rebels weren’t pursuing them. It was impossible to know if they’d been killed or had retreated into the forest. But Peeta knew they weren’t safe. The Capitol was here in the Arena, and he knew it must have to do with the Mockingjay.

They reached the cabin and, once inside, Katniss quickly barred the door. Peeta dropped his bundle of gear on the floor, laid his rifle on the table, and collapsed into a chair. Even though the air was cool, he felt hot, his forehead perspiring. Was it from the pain radiating up his leg or their frantic race back to the cabin? Or was it the fear of his nightmare come to life? He shrugged out of his parka and flipped it over the back of the chair.

Katniss tossed her pack beside the table and fell to the floor at his feet.

“Take off your pants!” she ordered, untying the now thoroughly bloodied shirt around his leg.

He unzipped the snow pants and let them drop to his ankles. She tore away the thermal underwear where the bullet had punctured, but, with the tourniquet removed, the blood flowed so freely it was difficult to inspect the wound. After a quick examination, she tied another shirt around his thigh as a bandage and reapplied the tourniquet over his pant leg once he’d redressed.

“Katniss, we can’t stay. It’s only a matter of time, and the hovercraft will find us now that they know we’re close by. I’m sure they’re here looking for you.”

She shook her head. “My mother was a healer. I’ve seen injuries like this. Your wound is serious. We need to remove the bullet, get the bleeding stopped somehow. I can’t do that if we’re running.”

“There’s no time for that!” he growled.

She fell back on her heels, her face flushing red with anger. “It’s too risky,” she argued.

The rumbling of the hovercraft drove Peeta to his feet. Lightheaded and unsteady, he hobbled to the window. They were out of time. He looked back at Katniss, her eyes wide, mouth open and fighting for breath. He could see it in her face— searching for a way out of this.

They were wasting precious seconds. The pain in his leg told him what Katniss must already know. He’d slow her down. It was going to be next to impossible to get away as it was.

“We need to go,” he said stubbornly. She refused to move, her eyes drilling into his, so he continued, “My map… Pick a spot. We’ll meet up once we lose them. We can deal with my leg then.”

It was a lie. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Anything to get her out the door, to escape.

He turned back to the window. She was rummaging around behind him, but she needed to get moving.

He didn’t have to jeopardize her escape, he could buy her some time. Maybe even lead them away. Coming to the resolution pushed away the panic and made everything clear. He could at least save the girl he loved. It was all he could do. But she needed to go now!

He searched for signs of swaying treetops indicating the hovercraft was near. The rumbling was getting louder. His eyes kept scanning in all directions. He could hear the sound of scraping behind him.

_What is she doing?_

“Katniss, hand me the rifle!” he demanded. “I’ll keep watch, you go first...”

“I’m sorry.”

 _Why is she sorry?_ He turned with an outstretched hand, reaching for the gun.

And grew confused.

Because he was staring down the barrel of his rifle, aimed now at his chest. Her face had that same unfathomable quality he’d first seen in the photo. He still couldn’t put a name to it.

“Katniss?”

The rifle fired, the pain of the impact causing him to slump to the floor. Unable to breathe, he felt hollow, alone with only a crushing despair. As he clutched his chest, his eyes asked her one question.

_Why?_

His field of vision narrowed, the edges growing fuzzy and gray. He focused on her eyes, waiting for them to turn red as the darkness pressed in. But they didn’t.

Instead, they glistened with crystalline fire.

_Like sunlight through ice._

Still so beautiful and perhaps a little sad.

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

Peeta felt strangely serene. Maybe dying wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t cold like he expected. Only the sensation of his heartbeat, like a clock winding down the final hour. As the darkness embraced him with its black wings, he heard Katniss say something, but it melted away before he could grasp onto it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are okay with cliffhangers! 
> 
> I know this one is pretty huge— but I promise the story isn't over yet. The last chapter will be posted in a week, and it's another big one— Haymitch returns, D13's dubious role in the Dark Days Rebellion, more about Peeta and Katniss's fate— new revelations to come! 
> 
> I love reading your comments! I'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this chapter and your predictions for the end of the story. :-)


	8. The Midnight Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’ve reached the Finale! Time to find out what happened after last week’s cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to gush for a moment over the lovely people who assisted me in writing this story. I couldn’t have asked for better Betas— whether it was correcting my grammar and punctuation or making great suggestions for how to enhance the story— papofglencoe, finduilasnumenesse, and titaniasfics— you are the BEST!
> 
> And now a love note for the artists who made gorgeous banners for me. Each creation is so original and captures a unique characteristic of ‘Silver Thaw.’ papofglencoe, otrascosasseries, and loving-mellark— you have spoiled me with your talent! (You can view their banners on Chapters 1, 3 and 4)
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to you all! I appreciate you so much! :’-)
> 
> And Thank You, wonderful people who’ve read my story and let me know you enjoyed it. You keep me inspired.

**Chapter 8 - The Midnight Sun**

“Good morning, sunshine.”

From within the void, he struggled to find an anchor to make sense of the blur of sensory input— the steady roar pummelling the inside of his head, the vibrations transmitting from the surface on which he lay, the cold, dim light penetrating his eyelids. The whiff of alcohol.

He recognized that gruff voice. Abernathy. He hazarded to open his eyes, recognizing the interior of a hovercraft. Sure enough, the commander was sitting beside his bunk, looking worse for wear. Peeta didn’t feel much better. His head ached and his throat was parched. When he tried to swallow, his tongue felt like sandpaper. Abernathy reached for a plastic cup with a straw and brought it to his lips. Peeta drank the water gratefully.

“I’m not dead,” Peeta rasped.

“No shit. You’re actually alive,” Abernathy mocked, but his voice sounded almost… gentle.

“What happened?” He tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of dizziness.

“Whoa. Don’t get up,” the commander ordered, his hand resting on Peeta’s shoulder. “You lost a lot of blood from the gunshot you received. But the medic’s got it under control for now. Good thing we got to you when we did.”

Peeta brought a hand to his chest, but there was nothing there but a bruise.

“Your leg’s gonna need more attention, though. Still lots of muscle tissue damage from the bullet. Plus, the aftereffects of a stun dart can be a bit unpleasant.”

_Stun dart?_

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Mellark. If we hadn’t found you when we did… Well, your leg wouldn’t have been your only concern. We’re being evacuated.” The corners of his mouth turned down in a sneer. “Before they turn District 13 into a radioactive pile of rubble.”

“What?” Peeta eased himself up into a sitting position. Abernathy reached behind him and rearranged the pillow to support his head. It was hard enough trying to force his foggy mind to sort out the news about the stun dart and what had happened at the cabin. This new revelation refused to compute.

“The Capitol found a way to temporarily jam D13’s short-range detection system. They’re using this break to send in hovercrafts, launch a preemptive strike from under the rebels’ noses. Hit them before they know what’s going on. It’s why we came to find you. We only had one chance to do flyovers, pick up any of our people in the Arena, and evacuate outside the zone. It was a fluke we spotted you and the girl.”

“I thought…” The reality began to take form in Peeta’s mind. “You said the Capitol didn’t want to risk more loss of life.”

Abernathy scowled. “Apparently, they decided it was worth it. The bombs are dropping as we speak.” His eyes grew unfocused. “Makes a person question the point of it all,” he muttered under his breath.

As the fog in his head dissolved, Peeta could see how bloodshot Abernathy’s eyes were. Though his breath reeked of liquor, the commander appeared to be dead sober.

Peeta needed to know. “The girl?”

Abernathy’s eyes narrowed. “She ran off into the trees just as we arrived. The Capitol would have prefered to take her alive, but I made the call that there wasn’t enough time to go after her.”

He heaved a weary sigh. “Not that it makes much difference now. If the bombs don’t kill her, the radiation will. Anyway, the rebellion’s over. Or will be soon. The remaining districts will fold now that they know what the Capitol is prepared to do, especially without the risk of retaliation hanging over them. The Mockingjay’s war is as dead as she is.”

With a grim smile he added, “I expect that we’ll be seeing a whole new era in Capitol leadership going forward.”

Peeta turned away and stared at the bulkhead. He couldn’t help it— he hoped Katniss survived. The thought that she likely hadn’t made his chest hurt with a pain much worse than the bruise.

Abernathy patted his shoulder. “So, mission accomplished, Mellark. Even though you didn’t bring her in alive, we know you captured the Mockingjay. Now you go home to the Capitol, get patched up, and then prepare for your debriefing.”

Peeta turned back to Abernathy and furrowed his brows.

“The rebellion may be gasping its last breath, but they’re going to want to know everything. You were in the Arena for the better part of two weeks, at least some of it at that cabin with the Mockingjay as your prisoner, from what we could tell. They’ll be curious what you learned about the rebels. So they can stamp out any potential lingering pockets of resistance.”

“I don’t… I didn’t really learn much about it.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d make something up. Otherwise they might get suspicious.”

The old fear slipped, cold and dark, into Peeta’s mind. But Abernathy’s eyes locked onto his, and he leaned in a little closer. The scent of his breath made Peeta a little nauseated, but his words reminded him of Effie and her coaching.

“You were forced to hole up in that cabin during a bad run of weather. You did an exemplary job under difficult circumstances, capturing the Mockingjay and, under fire, took a bullet courageously fighting off the rebels. But, due to your blood loss, she got her hands on your rifle. That’s what’ll be in my report.”

Peeta nodded in understanding.

“Interesting thing about that girl,” Abernathy mused.

“What’s that?” Peeta asked cautiously.

“When we were closing in on the both of you. Every second was critical for her to escape, and yet, she took the time to change the magazine in your rifle. We saw the regular cartridge she ejected from the chamber, along with the magazine, on the table. It looked like she swapped it out.”

He moved closer yet— his voice barely audible over the steady roar of the hovercraft engines. “She shot you with a stun dart when she could have killed you. She saved your life for some reason.”

Abernathy paused. “I won’t be putting that in my report. As far as I’m concerned, you caught the Mockingjay, but in the chaos of the rescue, she got the jump on you and escaped. It was just a piece of luck that your rifle was loaded with stun darts at the time.”

_‘I’d put you someplace where you couldn’t get hurt.’_

Katniss left him behind to be rescued by medics. She’d had his back after all. Her words filled his mind and flooded his heart with relief for a moment, but it quickly turned to aching sadness. He was alive and she wasn’t. He’d promised to protect her, but he’d failed. The knowledge of that failure jabbed at his chest, leaving him so devastated it was hard to remember to breathe.

Soldiers moved past them in the narrow aisle, and the commander sat back, propping his foot up on a stool. It was wrapped in a wad of compression bandages. Small lines formed between Peeta’s brows. Abernathy was covering for him. Why? The man must have seen the question on his mind and gave a tight shake of his head. A warning.

So, instead, Peeta gestured to his foot. “What happened?”

“Stumbled carrying your sorry ass to the hovercraft. I was ordered, _personally_ , to ensure your safety, seeing how you’re such a valued citizen of Panem.” There was that mocking tone again, but Abernathy sighed and his voice softened. “Bad sprain. Nothing serious. At least it’ll spare me from joining the rest of the troops heading to District 12. That and the fact that I have to explain my incompetence at failing to defend a Capitol outpost from rebel attack. I’m being accused of being sloppy and slow to react.”

The commander reached into his coat, pulled out a silver flask, and took a drink. “Alcohol can do that to a person.”

Peeta was certain it was more than the booze making the man look so haggard and gray. Abernathy had allowed what had been his closest extraction point to be destroyed— along with some of the commander’s own men— before he could hand over the Mockingjay. Incompetence? Peeta had his doubts.

But his thoughts quickly turned to Abernathy’s comment about his home district. “Wait. What’s going on in D12?”

“One of my men saw the message the Mockingjay left in the cabin before she took off. It was assumed to be intended for the rebels. I had to report it.”

Peeta screwed up his face. “Message?”

“Yeah. The Capitol intercepted some of D13’s coded messages sent over the airwaves to the rebels in other districts. They’ve been trying to figure out what they meant. Always times. ‘Oh-two hundred hours’ or ‘Eight pm.’ They thought it was D13’s method of delivering instructions for upcoming insurrections or guerrilla attacks, and they tried to figure out where they would happen. Then they started to put together that it wasn’t referring to hours, but to the districts. One through twelve. It wasn’t much help either, because now they didn’t know when the attack would take place. They never figured out the rest of the code.”

“But you saw a message in the cabin?”

“ _‘Meet me at midnight.’_ Strange really. Not twelve, or noon. But midnight. But you know, it’s the final hour. It’s being interpreted to mean that the last stand will take place in D12— the final hour of the rebellion.” He frowned. “So the Capitol is sending a large contingent of troops there to quell this thing once and for all.”

_Meet me at midnight._

Peeta was overcome with bittersweet heartache. It wasn’t a rebel message, it was for him. Even though it was as hopeless as the rebellion, at least Katniss remembered his promise to go find the midnight sun. She knew they’d never make it with him injured, figured out that he intended to sacrifice himself to help her escape, and she wanted him to know.

They sat quietly for awhile, listening to the rumble of the hovercraft.

“What’ll you do, now that the war’s almost over?” Peeta asked.

“Assuming I don’t get punished for my incompetence? Retire. Go home, back to Twelve. I know it isn’t much of a place at first glance, but I miss it. Miss those mountains. Miss the whiskey,” he added with a smirk, but then he grew wistful. “But you know what I miss most? The music.” He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to some tune playing in his head.

“You have family there?” Peeta asked.

“My mother. No one else. My father, brothers— they either died in the coal mines, or because the mines destroyed their health.” Peeta recalled the man talking about knowing loss. “I never married. But, hey, never too old to reconsider that plan, right?” he winked.

Abernathy grabbed the metal post at the head of Peeta’s bunk and pulled himself up to stand. He reached for a crutch leaning against the bulkhead and tucked it under his armpit.

“Well, rest up, Peeta.”

It didn’t escape his notice that the commander had addressed him by his first name, like an ally. Or maybe even a friend.

“You’ve got a lot to figure out before we land. You play this thing right and you’ll still be the big Capitol hero.”

“Thanks,” Peeta said, gripping his arm before he could leave. “For… everything. And sorry about your ankle.”

He gave a little dismissive wave. “Don’t mention it.”

Abernathy hobbled off, leaving Peeta alone to ponder his fate. But all he could think about was Katniss. How it was futile to hope she survived. How she’d snuck up on him. And, like a zephyr blowing over the snow, she’d melted the ice in his heart. How was he supposed to carry on after everything they’d been through together?

Peeta’s meeting with the military leadership was quick and uneventful, thanks to Abernathy’s warning. They shook his hand, thanked him for his loyal service, and dismissed him to return home to his family’s lodge to recover fully.

As Peeta predicted, the rebellion ended with no special rebel actions in District 12. Over the next few months, the television coverage was filled with death and destruction— the ruins left from the war, the displaced people within the districts. The rounding up and execution of rebels and their suspected supporters.

The sight of their bodies swinging from gallows or heaped up in piles with triumphant Capitol soldiers standing beside them made Peeta’s blood turn to ice. It reminded him too much of the trophy hunters at their lodge. He’d lost all interest in the family business and was sullen and depressed. While he refused to act as a guide anymore, guests still wanted to meet him, so he’d make a reluctant appearance when they arrived at the lodge.

He heard his mother grumble on multiple occasions when faced with his unkempt state. “We’re running a hospitality business,” she scolded one afternoon. “Appearances are important for maintaining our image. And you’re not helping.”

“I’m going for the rugged, outdoorsy look,” he’d snarked back.

She didn’t say anything after that. After all, his notoriety wasn’t the only thing helping them out. The Capitol was paying him a stipend for his service. Peeta gave it to his parents, knowing what it was— a way for the government to demonstrate they still owned him. He had no intention of accepting their money, even though he felt powerless to do anything about the message it sent.

He made a feeble attempt to figure out what he should do, but he could barely find the energy to get out of bed.

_You should have let me die, Katniss. It probably would’ve been best._

It was early June when the host of the morning news program announced they were featuring a live report from the heart of District 13. Peeta watched as the reporter— covered head to toe in a bulky radiation suit— described the scene while the camera panned around the crumbled buildings. It was upsetting to hear about the eradication of life and environmental devastation. He was grateful, after having to witness the dead rebels elsewhere, that they didn’t show them in D13. Most were reported buried alive in the fortress. As for those on the surface? Maybe they’d all been vaporized, he thought glumly.

At the end of the report, they concluded with a reminder that the ceremony marking the official end of the Dark Days Rebellion would be starting shortly. Peeta slumped in the armchair, trying to decide whether or not he should return to bed.

But just as the reporter in D13 was signing off he saw it, and his heart skipped a beat. Springing up from the armchair, he grabbed the remote control. He reversed the automatic recording to see it again.

It wasn’t a dream or a trick played on his eyes. It was real. A mockingjay flew across the corner of the screen. He forced himself to get ahold of himself and steady his breathing.

 _Focus_ , he demanded his sluggish brain.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Everything in the district may have been wiped out, but it had been months since the bombs dropped. The bird could have come from anywhere. And yet, the image burned in his mind, refusing to be ignored. He couldn’t stop obsessing all day about what it meant.

That night he had the first of a new recurring dream. No longer the old nightmares but altogether different. Still, there was something familiar about it, too— faint echoes left over from before. It was similar to the one he’d had the first night in the Arena, with the black-feathered bird swooping down on him. But this time it didn’t attack. Its huge wings folded down over him, warm and comforting, like a shield across his back. A moment later the bird whistled a tune, and, with a rush of air, its wings flapped, lifting it into the sky. He saw the bird rise up, higher and higher until it disappeared over the treetops, leaving him behind. He woke up, his pillow damp with tears, alight with an undeniable spark of hope.

He lay in bed, his thoughts a jumble of images— the midnight sun, light where there should be darkness, a mockingjay flying through a toxic district, the dream, and Katniss’s arms around him.

He couldn’t shake the sense that something was going on— a puzzle that must be solved— but he didn’t know where to go for answers. Who could he trust? A possibility leapt into his mind.

Abernathy.

Peeta remembered the dubious loyalty to the Capitol he’d displayed back in the D13 headquarters when they first met, and the way the man had covered for him on the way home. And he considered how the commander had likely helped the Mockingjay go free.

It dawned on him, as the sun rose, that it wasn’t really answers he needed— he already felt them deep in his gut. All he needed was confirmation.

For the first time since he’d returned home, he got up early, filled with frenetic energy, and started making plans. He made calls to a few well-connected people. His mouth curled in a cynical smile.

_About time my fame was used for something in my favor._

A few days later, the phone rang as he was getting his things organized. As expected, it was Effie following up on his arrangements to leave the Capitol for a personal trip.

“Now, Peeta, don’t forget you are meeting with the president next Tuesday.” It was all part of the hoopla following the official ceremonies from earlier in the week. “He wants to thank you in person for your heroism.”

Peeta felt like tossing the phone across the room, but instead he answered sweetly, “Effie, I _promise_ I’ll be back before then. You know I wouldn’t miss it, given how it’s such an honor.”

He wanted to gag but congratulated himself on being such a great liar, because Effie seemed appeased. He had no intention of being here for that meeting.

“Do you have your travel papers I sent you? You know they are very strict on that sort of thing, especially traveling between districts. I had to pull a dozen strings for you, you should know!”

He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was misleading his agent. Effie had worked tirelessly on his behalf, always doing her best to look out for him even if she was a part of a system he deplored. And he was ending their relationship on a lie.

“Effie?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Thanks for being such a great agent. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He thought he could hear sniffles.

“It’s my privilege, Peeta.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Of course. Where exactly can you be reached? In case I need to contact you.”

“I won’t be anywhere with phones, Effie. I’m going to pay a visit to an old friend— the commander I served under in D13— but once I head into the woods, I’ll be out of reach. You know, so I can recharge, find myself. But you can leave a message with D12’s Administrators.”

“I’d have thought you’d had enough of all that after your experiences this past winter, but never mind. You’re my victor, and what you want, you shall have! Now, I do need to remind you of the rules. You _must_ inform the authorities in District 12 of what you are doing and where you plan to go. They are _very_ concerned about the safety of their people. When they get the fences up, everyone will sleep _much_ better, I’m certain.”

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I do wish they’d bend the rules and let you take your rifle…”

Hardly anyone was allowed to possess a gun in the Capitol anymore, and certainly not in the districts. If it wasn’t for his status, and the fact that their lodge was so popular with government officials, his family would have been forced to shutter their business. But even celebrity had its limits.

“…but you are an experienced outdoorsman, so I’ll try not to worry.”

He couldn’t help visualize poor Effie, a week from now, dabbing the tears in her eyes when she learned he’d met with an unfortunate accident.

He could hear her now. _‘I did my utmost for that boy, gave him the best guidance. But it was just like the manners. He would never listen.’_

The day of his departure, Peeta’s parents delivered him to the train station. They wished him a safe trip, and he told them to look after each other. For a moment he thought they suspected something— the quick glance at each other, their furrowed brows— maybe picking up on a not-so-well disguised hint in his voice. But they said nothing and hugged him. His father held him a little longer than expected and whispered, “Take care of yourself, son.”

He nodded, picked up his camping gear, and boarded the train bound for District 12.

Peeta arrived the next day around noon, and, after making some inquiries, took a long time winding his way through what made up the wrong side of the tracks in the district. Everywhere he looked there were the abysmal conditions he’d seen on his post-Games tour, but this neighborhood was even worse than he remembered. Panem was still disorganized in the outer districts, which provided an advantage to him with the lax security. But it was hard to witness the people in these conditions— impoverished, demoralized, and docile.

He finally found the house he was looking for after asking several people for directions. He knocked and was answered by a gruff voice ordering him to go away. He sucked in a breath, opened the door, and entered anyway.

Abernathy was red-complected and annoyed at the intrusion, but a grin emerged on his unshaved face when he recognized Peeta. It was hard to believe the man could look even more rumpled than he had when they were evacuating D13.

“Well, well, didn’t expect to see you around here, Mellark!” He got up from his couch, which looked like it also served as his bed, and crossed to the foyer. Peeta dropped his gear to the floor and held out a hand to shake. Instead, the man reached over and gave his hair, now grown uncharacteristically long and shaggy, a ruffle.

Abernathy teased, “What happened to the ‘pretty boy’ media darling? I hardly recognize you!”

Peeta ran a hand over the beginning scruff of a beard. There were no razors where he was going, so he hadn’t seen the point of shaving. It helped with avoiding being recognized, too. “I’m taking a break from the spotlight. Permanently. Looks like you’ve done the same thing.”

Abernathy gave a huff, but his cloudy eyes became analytical as he scanned Peeta and his gear. “Something tells me this is more than a friendly visit with an old war acquaintance.”

Waving Peeta farther into his home, the man went to put on some coffee. He apologized for not having anything to offer in the way of food, mumbling that if he’d known he was having company, he’d have prepared something. Peeta said it wasn’t a problem and pulled out a couple loaves of hearty bread from a bag on top of his backpack.

“They’re a day old, but I made them myself.”

Abernathy handed him a bread knife and pointed to a chair at his dining table. Peeta took a seat, and a few minutes later the man returned with two mugs of steaming coffee. He sank into the chair opposite him, and, licking his lips, grabbed a piece of bread from the wooden cutting board.

“You don’t travel light,” Abernathy said with a full mouth, tipping his head toward Peeta’s backpack. “Hey, this is good.” He reached for another slice.

“I like to be prepared,” Peeta replied, and was met with the commander’s sharp, scrutinizing gaze. “I’ve heard the backcountry around here is nice. I got special permission to spend some time out there before they restrict access.”

Abernathy snorted. “Such are the privileges of a Capitol citizen and war hero. They’re still talking about you on the television.”

Peeta suppressed a groan and ignored the jibe. “That’s not the only thing on the television.”

Abernathy narrowed his eyes and rested his elbows on the table, his hands hugging the mug. “You don’t say.”

Peeta described the news report from District 13 and seeing the mockingjay at the end. Abernathy sat in quiet contemplation for a long moment. Peeta was growing concerned that maybe this fact-finding trip might be in vain, when the commander gave a smirk.

“You know mockingjays came from jabberjays. Impressive will to survive, those mutts. And, well, that’s the thing about legends, too. The characters and their stories have a way of enduring despite determined efforts to crush them.”

Peeta quirked an eyebrow. “Are you saying there’s talk going on? What are people saying?” He hadn’t heard anything in the Capitol, but this was D12, rebel country.

They evaluated each other, both gauging how much of their hand to reveal.

“You won’t find people talking openly. Still too scared. But they find other ways to communicate what’s on their minds. A bit of graffiti, a note on a piece of paper. I’ve even seen a gold pin with a mockingjay on it making the rounds…

“And there’s a song, too. Something about a rebel message left by the Mockingjay before she flew away.” He fluttered his hand in the air. “I have no idea how that got started,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Abernathy helped himself to another slice of bread, apparently debating his next words. He leaned in, looking around the room as if he might be overheard.

“Here’s what I know. All the soldiers on board the hovercrafts sent in to drop the nuclear bombs on D13? They’re all dead. They claim it was exposure to the radiation, but I think there’s more to it.”

“A cover-up?” Peeta asked, leaning in, mirroring Abernathy.

The man shrugged. “Could be. Something else I know. Stories about the Mockingjay are still being whispered, no matter how hard the Capitol tries to bury her.” He smirked. “Strong knack for survival with that one, too, I reckon. The Mockingjay. Fitting name for her.”

The man took a sip of coffee. “Of course this is all probably just the wishful thinking of failed revolutionaries. The stuff of future legends.”

Peeta studied the scruffy ex-commander. “You hope she’s still alive.”

Abernathy scowled. “Careful. That’s treason. I’d appreciate you not putting words in my mouth.”

His eyes darted to the foyer and Peeta’s gear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Capitol lost control of another mutt, too,” he said. The corner of Peeta’s mouth quirked up.

He declined more bread when Abernathy pushed the plate holding the remaining slices forward. He had a feeling the man needed it more than he did, given how he’d practically inhaled the first loaf.

When they finished their coffee, Peeta rose from the table.

“I should get going. The days are long, but I still want to take my time, find a good spot to set up camp tonight.”

Abernathy walked him to the door. Peeta heaved the heavy pack onto his back and held out his hand to the commander. “Thanks for the coffee. And the talk.”

He was surprised when the man gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let him go. Peeta furrowed his brow in question.

Abernathy grew pensive, speaking just above a whisper. “You know, the Mockingjay isn’t the only character in this story that’s going around. Who knows? Maybe the idea is catching on. Love, sacrifice— all that shit. People from all over Panem standing together in solidarity.”

“Didn’t work this time. And remember what you said earlier, about dangerous talk,” Peeta reminded him.

Abernathy nodded his head but added, “I got a feeling we’re all heading into uncharted futures.” He took a hesitant breath, and then, with almost fatherly concern, placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Peeta. Whatever you’re planning…”

Peeta met the knowing look on the man’s face. “Yeah?”

“Stay alive. That’s all.”

Peeta gave him a grin. “You can bet on it.”

When he reached the dirt road in front of Abernathy’s shack, he gave a parting wave to the man. Standing in the doorway, Abernathy made an odd gesture in reply. An understated thing, but it looked like he was blowing him a kiss or something. Weird.

 _Must be a local thing,_ Peeta told himself as he turned away.

When he took the first step toward the town center to register his itinerary with the D12 Administration office, he heard Abernathy singing a tune. For a man who spoke with such rough tones, his singing voice was remarkably pleasant.

The song was kind of dark, though— something about a hanging tree.

As he submitted his paperwork to D12’s officials, Peeta imagined how it would play out. Several days from now, when he didn’t return on schedule, the officials would send out a search party. A few miles outside D12’s mining town, they would discover a campsite torn apart and some blood-soaked, shredded clothing strewn about. Maybe even a few shattered, fleshy bones, depending on what variety of animal he was able to take down with his hunting knife. He doubted the district had a very sophisticated forensics department.

Eventually, they’d question what had happened to the rest of his gear or why they couldn’t find any other trace of his remains, and figure out that it was a ruse. But he’d be long gone by the time they did.

With plenty of hours of daylight and cooperative weather, Peeta made good time as he hiked north. Despite months of lethargy and atrophied muscles, he was driven by his private mission, and with every mile he found new strength. He occasionally consulted his map, sticking to the heavily wooded areas wherever possible on the off chance any hovercraft patrols flew over.

He was so confident in his convictions that he never stopped when he reached the border with District 13— the supposed beginning of the radiation zone. But he stayed vigilant for predators. A couple days in, he reached the outskirts of one of the mining settlements. There were no signs of human activity, but the area had seen a resurgence of animal life. He smiled. He took it as a sign that the D13 rebels had eliminated their mutt problem. Armed with only his hunting knife, he was encouraged by the discovery. He stayed clear of the underground fortress. All his instincts told him that it wasn’t as desolated as portrayed.

When Peeta reached the cabin, he eagerly flung open the door. His fingers traced the words carved into the table:

_Meet me at midnight._

He spent the night there, resting his weary body after days of strenuous exertion, and was filled with elation as he recalled the days and nights spent in this place. The next morning he awoke invigorated.

He and Katniss had discussed in vague terms the route north they’d planned to take, so it wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. Beside a river there was a small pile of rocks. A freshwater mussel shell sat on the top, a blue ribbon peeking out from below. A smile erupted on his face as he pulled the ribbon free and stuffed it into his pocket.

The river wound its way north, and, as Peeta followed its course, he thought about the place where the night sky danced with color and the sun never set. But mostly he thought about seeing Katniss again. His pace increased as he drew closer to his goal.

Three days later he awoke with a smile to the happy chirping of songbirds. A mockingjay whistled at him from a tree limb, so Peeta sang a few bars from a silly song Rye had taught him when they were kids. The mockingjay cocked its head and gave him a petulant tweet in reply. It made Peeta chuckle.

“Go find Katniss,” he called after the bird as it flew away.

Encountering the bird gave him a hopeful feeling about the day. While gathering his gear, he paused, finally allowing himself to take a moment to absorb what lay around him.

How different it all appeared— the world no longer buried under an achromatic shroud of ice and snow. The fresh tints of spring ebbing as the land burst forth with the vibrant, rich colors of summer. The air now warm and perfumed with the scent of growing things.

The slope of the land leveled out as he left the mountains and the trees grew more sparse. The sun was hot approaching midday, so he stopped to take a break at the edge of the forest. He was certain he could detect a change in the air— an increase in humidity that must come from a larger body of water than the river he was following.

After a quick meal, Peeta topped up his canteen and slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack. He ran a sleeve across his sweaty brow, slid his sun shades over his eyes, and emerged from the trees into the bright sunlight. The river, now wider and more languid, meandered around rolling grasslands and low shrubs.

Though he couldn’t see what lay ahead, his heart began to race and a broad grin emerged on his face.

He could hear the faint melody wafting through the air, prompting him to break into a jog, despite the heavy burden on his back. He came around the small rise and approached as close as he dared without revealing his presence. Dropping the pack to the ground and tossing the sun shades into the grass beside it, Peeta crouched motionless behind a honeysuckle bush.

She looked so beautiful. A thin, faded-green tank top revealing her toned shoulders and arms. The single, dark braid hugging the nape of her neck before disappearing over her right shoulder. Her slender waist curving into the enticing swell of her round bottom. She was kneeling in the grass— the most perfect blossom in a meadow of pretty flowers— absorbed in some task.

And she was singing. Peeta reveled in the song and the sweet voice that sang it.

Less than a minute had passed, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed more than the sight and sound of her. He needed to feel his hands on her soft curves and hers caressing his face. He stood up and stepped free from his hiding spot.

“Hey, there,” he called out, surprised he even had a voice to speak. “Shouldn’t you be watching your back? Someone could sneak up on you.”

Katniss rose and spun around, fistfuls of feathers from some kind of waterfowl— perhaps a goose— clutched in her hands. Her eyes were wide with alarm, but then her face lit up in jubilation. Impatiently wiping her hands clean on her pant legs, she ran to meet him.

Peeta closed the distance, opening his arms wide to greet her. Her run became a sprint, and she flung herself into his arms with such force that he staggered, and they both tumbled down onto the soft grass.

For the first few frantic seconds they clung to each other— choking out previously constrained emotions in breathless whispers, hands running over bodies, eyes searching each other’s faces as if to convince themselves the other was unhurt, safe, and real.

Once reassured, with Peeta pinned beneath her, Katniss teased, “Nah, that’s what I have you for.” She laughed, but her eyes were crying.

Feeling like his heart could burst, Peeta took her face in his hands, and she brought her lips to his. Bathed in sun that could barely compete with the heat of their embrace, and caressed by a gentle breeze imbued with the velvety touch of moisture, Peeta rediscovered all the unique nuances and details that he had guarded in his memory. He took it all in— feeling the comfort of her touch, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, breathing in the scent of her hair.

When they finally came up for air, Katniss nuzzled her face against his cheek like a cat. “I knew you’d come.”

“Sorry I took so long,” Peeta whispered.

She lifted her face, tilting her head to the side, her eyes glancing up toward the clear, blue sky. When they settled back on him, they were glistening with delight, their complex color as fascinating as he remembered.

“It’s the solstice. I’d say you’re right on time,” she answered.

He dug a hand into his pocket and drew out Prim’s ribbon. “I thought you’d want to have this back.”

Katniss kissed him again, lingering for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She took the ribbon from his fingers and added it to the pearl in her hand. Her fingers formed a tight fist around them, and she gave him a grateful smile.

Peeta gently moved her to the side and rose to his feet. Holding out his hand, he pulled her up to join him. But before releasing her hand he drew her in for one more hug.

The initial euphoria began to wane, and he suddenly grew anxious as he gazed over the big river that marked the end of one world and the beginning of their new one. The path ahead lay, unknown and daunting, before them. She must have sensed his need to draw from her courage, because she pressed her body against him, her hands smoothing across his back in soothing circles.

“We’re not alone,” she said. “There are others— the Outliers we warned— they’ve already crossed over.” She stroked the side of his face. “But I wouldn’t leave this side without you.”

Peeta inhaled and kissed her forehead, the fear lifting— not just because they wouldn’t be facing the future alone, but because of the confidence that Katniss had in him, waiting there, knowing he would make it back to her. He released her, giving her a brave smile.

“Is your camp near?” he asked.

She threaded her fingers through his with one hand and pointed with the other. He saw the grove of trees to the west, a short distance upriver.

They went back for his gear and stopped to retrieve the goose and Katniss’s bow, and then, hand-in-hand, she led him to her camp beside the river.

“I need to ask,” Peeta said as they walked. “When you shot me…”

Katniss gazed up at him, looking contrite. “I’m sorry—”

He kissed her temple, “No, you saved me. I know that.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Besides, I probably had it coming, given I shot you first.” He pulled her to a stop and took her face in his hands. “It’s not about that. It’s about what you said as I was going under. I wasn’t sure if it was real.”

Katniss smiled. Rising up on tiptoes, she whispered the words in his ear, telling him what he already knew in his heart, eliminating the last remnant of doubt.

“I love you.”

He smiled. Katniss loved him. It was real.


	9. Epilogue - The Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss reflects on the gifts that have shaped her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to the readers who let me know that they would like an Epilogue for ‘Silver Thaw.’ Thank you for your support and encouragement! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you, as well, to Yuletide in Panem on tumblr. I’d been pondering what to write for quite awhile, but when I saw the prompt for ‘Gift,’ I found the inspiration to write this chapter.
> 
> I am so grateful to my betas papofglencoe, titaniasfic, and finduilasnumenesse. I couldn’t do this without you!

**‘Silver Thaw’ Epilogue - The Ribbon**

The small, leather pouch holds many of my precious things, tokens of little value to anyone but me. All are gifts of love that I’ve received over the years from the people I cherish. I keep it with me always, attached to a string that hangs around my neck underneath my top, close to my heart.

Once I shuck my fur-lined parka, and, silent as a mouse, check one of my treasures too big to carry around my neck, I reach under the neck of my sweater and pull the pouch free. Sitting cross-legged on the edge of our bed, I loosen the drawstring and empty the contents onto the blanket beside me. Among them is my pearl. I kiss its iridescent surface, the way I did during those months when I couldn’t kiss the giver himself, before placing it back in the bag along with the other items. But one thing I keep out— the length of blue ribbon.

It was a snowy day like this one when I first saw it in the storage building at the mining settlement— a spool of satiny fabric as blue as the summer sky. As vivid as my sister’s eyes…

~~~~~~

“You aren’t seriously bothering with ribbon?” Gale asked in a hushed voice when I picked it out. The left corner of his mouth was screwed up with incredulity as he rifled through the crate next to me.

It wasn’t a typical thing for us to take, and, if I was anything, I was practical when it came to the goods I risked liberating under cover of night. But I knew Primrose would love it. So, along with the more useful yarn, thread, wool fabric, and scissors, into my bag it went.

Winter was a challenging time for us, but we managed. The snow made tracking game easier, which was important since some animals were unobtainable, having either migrated south or because they were hibernating in hidden caves and burrows. We sometimes resorted to raiding District 13’s supply depots whenever shipments arrived from the Capitol. Not a lot— just enough to satisfy our needs, but not so much the district people would be bothered to do anything about it.

Winter, with its dark days, was our friend in these ventures, my father taught me. He always emphasized the positive. Prim took after him in this way with her perpetually sunny way of looking at the world.

But even she was afraid of those long, dark nights when the winds would moan, imagining frightening beasts beyond our cabin walls. I didn’t know then how her fears would become horribly real one day. Our parents asleep, her arms would hug me in our shared bed, and she’d whisper, asking me to tell her again of our father’s stories about the land of the midnight sun.

When we got home from our raid the next day, and while our father unpacked his heavy bag of loot for our mother, I pulled the spool from my bag and placed it on my sister’s side of the bed. Prim’s eyes lit up.

“For me?” she gasped.

“Of course it’s for you, silly.” I rolled my eyes and gave a huff, pretending it was a big imposition to bring this frivolous gift home for her. “Like I’d ever own such a frilly, pointless thing.” Her toothy grin revealed she saw through my act.

Before surrendering the ribbon to her, I unspooled a long length of the pretty blue material and sliced it off with my knife.

“Lean forward,” I said, reaching behind her head.

Reading my mind, as she was so good at doing, she lifted her hair, and I slipped the ribbon around the back of her neck, drawing the ends up and around her face. I tied it in a fancy bow at her temple and slid it back, smoothing her soft, blond hair away from her face along with it.

“There. Now, if you had a pair of wings you could be a butterfly,” I said running my hand over her cheek, gazing at the vision of blue and gold. “Or maybe a forget-me-not flower, because I could never, ever forget how beautiful you are.”

Prim was the person with whom I was most free with my affection. Gale would’ve teased me unmercifully if he ever heard me speak in such fawning terms.

Spinning around, she fluttered her arms, angelic and graceful, before throwing them around my neck. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered back, my heart bursting to see how happy it made her.

I shook my head at the notion that a gift courtesy of the Capitol would bring so much joy, given how much we disliked everything Panem’s government represented. Being fourteen years of age, I still had a lot to learn about irony.

Prim cut off another long length of ribbon and dashed outside to the shed that housed the few animals we kept. She tied it around her goat Lady’s neck, giving her pet a kiss.

“You look like twins,” I teased.

She grinned at me the way only a ten-year-old could at being told she resembled a goat. That ribbon ended up adorning all sorts of things important to my sister, and then the stuff closest to the rest of her family— our father’s fiddle, our mother’s jars of medicinal herbs, and one morning I found a piece streaming from my bow.

“It’ll scare off the game,” I sighed, running my fingers through the trailing strands.

“I know,” she answered. “I just wanted you to have some of it, too.”

“Here,” I said, removing it. “I’ll keep it in my pocket. Then, every time I take it out, I’ll think of you.”

~~~~~~

I carried it with me always. After the terrifying day when I killed the Capitol soldiers, I kept running its smooth surface through my fingers to calm myself. On the devastating day when the rebels helped me bury my family, I clutched it in my hands, as if its delicate length could hold me together. I was wracked with pain, a dark fire festering in my heart fueled by a need for vengeance. In the weeks that followed, when I was alone, that scrap of blue ribbon was the only thing that reminded me of love, not destruction.

But, unfortunately, it had too much competition to win out for my attention in those first months.

As the year wound down, I fought my private war with the Capitol for their unspeakable crimes. While Gale and other Outliers joined the rebels, attacking the enemy’s patrols and outposts, I acted alone. I had no interest in submitting to the rebels’ command.

I didn’t know why they allowed me so much freedom to act as I wished. I figured they were satisfied that every time I blew up the enemy’s supplies, it helped the rebel cause. They gave me specialized arrows, reminding me they would work just as effectively on the Capitol soldiers as their supplies, but I stopped short of taking life. It wasn’t that I hadn’t done it before, but that had been in self defense. Somehow, despite my anger, it was a line I was reluctant to cross.

Maybe it was that blue ribbon. Whenever I looked at it, I remembered how proud Prim had been of me. I still didn’t want to disappoint her.

Then came the day that changed the course of my life. Who could have guessed that something as innocent and trivial as a ribbon held such mysterious power? It seems, even from the grave, my sweet sister had been looking out for me in her way. Otherwise, I probably would have killed something else that would come to be precious to me, though in a different way.

With my hand clutching the satin strand, my sister on my mind, I was momentarily frozen when I saw his eyes, blue like the ribbon, blue like Prim’s. My brief hesitation led to us both in the river, but that near fatal tumble at the waterfall began my journey from antagonistic impasse to tentative alliance and eventually to the silver thaw of my heart.

It melted away all the lies intended to manipulate me, to turn me into a rebel monster without my knowledge or permission. It rekindled the dwindling ember of love that I unknowingly still carried inside. The one that I’d thought winked out as the approaching solstice marked the darkening of my days.

Peeta showed me that someone else understood my grief, that I could even trust someone who was intended to be my enemy. I doubted there could be a future, a life, for the two of us. But on that day, when we woke to the crystalline beauty of the ice-coated world, I was willing to pretend it was possible, if only for awhile.

Later, as I watched Peeta bleeding to death, I knew we’d run out of time. The silver thaw is a temporary thing, like the seasons that carry on, relentless and ambivalent to human plans. We are meant to appreciate what mercies we get while they are given and learn to let go when the time comes. That’s something else my father taught me.

When I was young and hadn’t yet experienced loss, it was easier to accept. Then my family was ripped away from me, and I questioned that wisdom. But when I let Peeta go, when I shot him so he could go home and be saved, I understood. It wasn’t about callously leaving people behind, it was about caring enough to do what’s best for them, no matter the cost to yourself.

It’s a gift, given unconditionally and with love.

It still hurt a lot to do it, though.

I kissed Peeta goodbye, and, with my pearl and ribbon tucked safety in my pocket, I ran for the forest. I watched the hovercraft leave with a bittersweet ache in my heart. But that pearl held a promise. And to believe in a promise means to accept hope. The scratched out message I left in the cabin was my declaration of faith that I’d learned from a simple ribbon— that my life wasn’t doomed. It was more than a memento, it had become a sort of talisman.

The ribbon had comforted me, guided me, and reminded me of what was dear. When I left it, tucked under a rock marking my path, it also was a symbol of my certainty. How else could I ever have allowed myself to be parted from it?

My gift to Prim, which she had then given to me, had become my gift to Peeta, saying, _Come find me. I’m waiting for you._

The others who fled Panem with me were reluctant to leave me at the river. But I was so convinced of my reasons that they respected my decision, saying they’d leave signs to follow when it was time for me to join them on the other side.

They weren’t only Outliers, either. My friend Gale showed my note, warning of rebel treachery, to the daughter of one of D13’s leaders. When she confronted her mother, demanding the truth, she was told, “Sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.” She came with us, as well as a few others who refused to cower underground. I like her. Gale loves her. Funny how things can work out for the best.

I held onto that notion, along with my pearl, as I waited beside the river, my father’s wisdom echoing in my thoughts. We let go of the beauty in a silver thaw so we can look with anticipation to the spring that follows. I clung to the belief that it could be true for me, too.

I was patient. And hopeful. The days grew warmer and longer, and, instead of growing more anxious, I grew calmer as the snow-shrouded world turned green again.

The day Peeta placed Prim’s blue ribbon back in my hands I began to sing again, like I hadn’t sung in years. I even silenced all the mockingjays, Peeta claimed, but I know he was exaggerating.

It’s been three and a half years since the day we were reunited beside the great river. Peeta and I crossed over, continued our journey north until we rejoined the remnant of my people. We’ve built a new life for ourselves. It hasn’t been easy without access to district goods, but we’re learning to be self-reliant.

We’ve settled a fertile valley, planted crops, raised animals. We still hunt. I taught Peeta to use the bow, but he says he’ll never be as good as me, and I’m not so modest to deny that he’s right. It turns out he’s a better baker, which suits me just fine. We grow grains, which he mills to turn into the breads I love. We complement each other that way. He bakes, I hunt, and we both live and love on.

I smile when I hear her sleepy cry. I fetch our baby girl from her cradle, snuggling her in my arms as she gurgles at me. I take the blue ribbon and gently wrap it around her halo of fine, dark hair. She blinks up at me with blue eyes that match it. Her father’s eyes, but I am also reminded of my sister whenever I look at them. It makes me feel like she’s not too far away, maybe closer than I realize.

Peeta comes in, our toddler son at his side, quickly shutting the door against the snow storm that is blowing outside. My boy kicks off his boots, drops his coat on the floor, and rushes over to give me a kiss. He opens his mittened hand to reveal a black feather tipped with white.

“A mockin’day, momma,” he whispers in my ear. I gather him in a group hug with his little sister.

“Yes, it’s a mockingjay,” I laugh. “You have such sharp eyes to find it in all this snow.” I breathe in the faint scent that clings to him from hugging his pet goat. “I love you,” I whisper into his blond curls.

He squirms, and I release him from my embrace. I’m much freer now with my spoken words of endearment, the ones I used to reserve for Prim. I know she’d approve of that. I place the feather in my pouch along with the other treasured gifts.

“Is it getting worse outside?” I ask my husband.

“It’s a bad one,” Peeta admits as he picks up our son’s parka and hangs it on a hook beside his own. “But the sky is clearing in the west. I think maybe it’ll be over before the sun goes down.”

He’s always the optimist, just like my father. Just like Prim. I’m more inclined to be skeptical and worry like my mother, but I’ve learned to trust things can be good. Plus, ever since Peeta and I were stranded together that first time, storms have a different meaning to me, and I grin at him.

“We’ll be okay,” I say with conviction.

There are times when we think about the world we left behind. I know Peeta wonders if his parents are alright. And he sometimes mentions his friend in District 12, Abernathy, and his dire predictions for the people of Panem. I worry about the children growing up in such a world. Sometimes, I hug my own children close and find it impossible to let them go for fear of losing them.

When those dark, emotional clouds descend, Peeta comforts me, saying that as long as we have each other, we’ll be okay. We assure each other that someday the might of the Capitol will be broken, which makes us both feel better. We fought our fight in another lifetime, and we’ve moved on. It’s someone else’s battle now. I hope the people of Panem don’t have to wait too long.

Peeta checks that the fire in our wood stove is sufficient to get us through the rest of the day. By the time we’ve had our dinner and the children are in bed, the storm has passed.

When our baby girl is a little older, and the days are long, we plan to travel north, just the four of us, to find the midnight sun. A fulfillment of a promise that Peeta and I made to each other four years ago. I remember Prim begging me to tell her our father’s stories on winter nights like this, the ones I now tell to my children. I will see it for her, too.

Peeta comes in from the dark after feeding our animals in the small barn and making sure the skim of ice is broken in their water trough for the night. He takes my hand and leads me over to the door.

“I need to show you something,” he whispers, grabbing my parka from the hook and helping me into it. He’s animated, and his cheeks are flushed with more than the frosty air. When I ask what it is, he says, “You’ll see, but cover your eyes first, okay?” His eyes are twinkling with delight. I scowl. “Trust me,” he chuckles.

_I do. With my life._

I raise my mittened hands to my face as Peeta leads me outside. He closes the door quietly behind us so as not to wake our sleeping children, his hands on my shoulders guiding me away from our cabin. The snow is so cold it squeaks under my feet. He stops and, facing me, he lifts my hands away from my eyes. His broad grin is brimming with anticipation.

The air is cold and still, and it’s charged with energy that prickles my exposed skin. My breath is a white vapor visible in the starlight of the clear night sky.

“What?” I ask, a little impatient and anxious to return to the warmth of our home and our children.

He grips my shoulders and spins me around to see what’s behind me. “Look up, Katniss!” he says with awe. The night sky is streaked with color, dancing as if from a strange celestial fire. “It’s just like you described.”

I lean back into him, his arms wrapping around and enveloping me against his body, his chin resting on the top of my head. I sigh. And though I don’t have my ribbon, I clutch his hand and think of my family. My father and his tales of such a sight. My gentle mother, who taught me to be the devoted parent I am. And I think of Prim. For a moment I feel a pang of loss, wishing she could be here to see this with me. But then I remember that it was because of her gift that I am here to see it at all.

“It’s so beautiful. Almost as lovely as a silver thaw,” I whisper, tilting my face so my cheek is nestled against Peeta’s shoulder.

He turns me in his arms and brings his lips to my cool cheek. “Almost.”

He tells me a silver thaw will always remind him of me, but I insist that he’s the one that most resembles it. He chuckles as if that’s an absurd idea. I grab his face and pull him in so I can claim his lips to prove my point. Maybe we’re both right, I concede, given how he matches the passion of my kiss.

He groans when I pull away from his arms, but I reach for his hand and tug him back toward our cabin.

Peeta furrows his brow and says, “Don’t you want to watch the lights?”

“The children are asleep,” I purr with a coy smile.

I don’t have to say anything more and he’s at my side, already nuzzling my braid aside, kissing the sensitive skin behind my ear, exposed above my sweater.

How strange and wondrous is this world and this life and its mysteries. I’m no longer an innocent adolescent. I’ve seen and done things I wish I could forget. But I’ve witnessed beautiful things, too.

With experience, I’ve come to understand irony better.

To think that the things dearest to me now are gifts that came from the Capitol, my old enemy. They sent Peeta to capture me. Instead he offered me a pearl and himself. And then he gave me my children, a family to fill the void in my heart. This community of people wouldn’t be here together, living in peace, if not for the Capitol’s oppression. Even the mockingjay, and the inexplicably positive association I seem to have developed with it in my family’s eyes, is a gift in its own, odd way.

And it all started with the simple gift of a spool of blue ribbon.

Image credit: https://kevinmcneal.wordpress.com/2014/03/02/how-to-successfully-photograph-northern-lights/

 


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